


like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass

by wardo_wedidit



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Elope First Plan Later, Eloping, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Weddings, Why Waste a Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-25 23:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18711601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: Five weddings David and Patrick don't have, and one they do.





	1. run away with me

**Author's Note:**

> I JUST HAD TOO MANY WEDDING FEELINGS. 
> 
> A more accurate description of this fic would be five weddings that aren't canon compliant and one that is. Each chapter varies on the spectrum of AU with some having bigger changes than others, but hopefully there's a little bit of something for everyone here! I just like WEDDING TROPES.
> 
> Posting in parts because there is still editing to be done and I'm trying to be a Responsible Human who maintains balance and a respectable sleep schedule. (They say it's never too late?) But it is DONE, so I'm gonna post like every day or every other day consistently. And I'll update tags too, but I want to save some surprises.
> 
> First up we have a lil elopement fic! Only note is to pretend "Meet the Parents" happens before "The Hospies." Chapter title from [good old CRJ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OE2qEpkWWoQ), fic title from [Hozier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4rKN_qW5DU).

1.

 

 

The town hadn’t exactly been thrilled when they found out that David and Patrick eloped.

Honestly, David had been surprised at _just_ how many people were worked up about it.

He expected near hysterics from his mother, and a weepy pride and sadness from his dad, and anger from Alexis at being excluded from the whole thing. Stevie just seems disbelieving that they’d gotten married, which checks out.

But it’s _everyone_. Twyla gets teary when he orders lunch to go, saying she’s just so happy for them and wishes she could have been there to see it. Roland storms into the store and demands to know what he’s done to offend them, and while David could have pulled out a laundry list from over the years, Patrick definitely handles it more delicately.

But what they all don’t get is that it hadn’t been to hurt anyone’s feelings. It had been… spontaneous; David had been just as surprised as the next person.

It had gone like this: it was a quiet Monday morning, sunny and bright. The store was closed because it was the first day of renovations on the bathroom, so they could sleep in. Patrick had been looking at him kind of dreamily when he woke up, and David had stretched and blushed and stared right back. “Hi.”

“Morning,” Patrick says, his voice croaky from sleep. David shivers at the sound, finding Patrick’s feet with his own under the sheets, tangling them together.

“What time is it?” he asks, rubbing over his eyes.

“Seven-thirty.”

“Seven-thirty? Oh my god, _why_ , it’s not like we have anything to do today.”

“Actually,” Patrick says, arm around David’s waist, pulling him in so they’re nose to nose. “I had an idea.”

“Mm,” David hums, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “Does the idea include making me breakfast? Because I think I was dreaming about pancakes—”

Patrick grins, brighter than the morning light outside. “I was thinking we could get married today,” he says, his voice low and intimate, and David freezes.

He sees David’s reaction but doesn’t lose his smile, still so sure of himself in a way that isn’t even cocky, just… settled. “We can have pancakes too, if you want,” he murmurs, brushing David’s nose with his own.

David tries to find words. Surely there are some of them still, up there in his brain. “...Today?”

Patrick nods, thumb sweeping smoothly over the small of David’s back. “I just, I woke up and thought—I wanna marry you, David Rose.”

David feels his breath catch. This is, this is crazy, surely. Patrick’s never asked, they’ve never even talked about it, really. It was just the other week when David had suggested Patrick go on a date with Ken, and Patrick had teased him about saying they were going to be together five years from now.

“Are you seriously proposing to me right now? This isn’t a joke that’s gonna make me look really stupid?” His voice sounds high even to his own ears, and he tries not to cringe at the sound of it.

Patrick shakes his head, smiling. “So what do you say?”

David thinks for a moment, trying to get his heart to slow down. He takes a deep breath for a moment. He doesn’t want to say it yet. “You don’t even have rings.”

Patrick’s face _does_ go cocky then. “Oh, I have rings.”

“Excuse me?” David didn’t even know his voice could go that high.

But then Patrick’s untangling himself, getting out of the bed and moving to a cabinet, rummaging around. He pulls out a long, rectangular velvet box, and then David’s clamoring up to sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed, because this is all getting very real very fast, and he needs his wits about him.

Patrick sits down across from him, handing him the box. He watches as David opens it slowly, carefully, to reveal four gold rings, identical to the ones he’s currently wearing on his right hand but for the color. David gasps, completely unable to stop himself, because he just hadn’t seen this coming _at all_.

“I just got them back two days ago,” he says, as if he can hear the questions swirling in David’s head. It comes out half a laugh, but David can hear the nerves in it, now, like he’s starting to realize how crazy this is too. “I was going to do a whole thing, take you on a hike and, and bring champagne, do it the right way, but… I just. I didn’t want to wait.”

When he looks at Patrick’s face it’s vulnerable, so in love and so perfect, and that was the moment it became real and David felt his eyes fill with tears. “I love you,” he says, helpless, his voice coming out breathy and broken, unable to do anything but look into Patrick’s eyes.

“I love you, too,” Patrick replies, still looking slightly nervous, like he’s waiting for an answer.

So David had said yes. He’d said yes because Patrick had woken up one day, and wanted to marry him so badly that he couldn’t wait to start their lives together. And how could David say no to that?

Patrick had drawn his face in both hands and kissed him, David surging up into it, and then he had buried his face in Patrick’s neck and _cried_. Much harder than he could have expected—gasping sobs that make him flush with embarrassment, but Patrick just rubs his back and holds him through it, steady.

“Sorry,” David says when he’s caught his breath and managed to pull away, fluttering a hand in front of his face. “I don’t know, why, what that was—”

“Don’t be sorry,” Patrick says immediately, insistent but also gentle. His hands are on David’s hips, both of them kneeling on the bed still. “It’s a lot, I know, I feel it too.”

“I’m really happy,” David says, eyes stinging with tears all over again, but he needs Patrick to know that. Despite whatever dumb reaction his body has.

Patrick’s smile is small and special. David wants to wrap it up and keep it with him always. “Me too,” he murmurs back.

There aren’t pancakes, in the end, because David wants to shower and pull himself together because he’s getting _married_ today. If he would have known, he probably would have done a face mask last night, but whatever. He guesses you can’t have everything.

Then there’s a mini-crisis because god, he didn’t even think about what they’re going to _wear_ ; he doesn’t have a suit here and he’s absolutely not going back to the motel to pick up something more formal; that would derail the whole day, but he’d honestly be shocked if Patrick had a suit here and—

“David,” Patrick says, placing steadying hands on his shoulders and looking charmed despite David’s complete spiral. “It’s fine, take a deep breath. Just wear whatever you have here that you think is best.”

David nods, processing for a second before his eyes narrow. “And you, you’re—”

Patrick rolls his eyes fondly. “If you don’t like what I choose, we can talk then.”

He [ends up with](https://dan-levy.com/gallery/displayimage.php?album=343&pid=11728#top_display_media) a fairly plain black sweater, choosing some patterned black and white pants that are more tailored than what he’d normally go with, and shiny black dress shoes. Patrick emerges in a light blue button down and dark gray slacks. David’s mouth twists into a pleased smirk.

“Jacket or no?”

David shakes his head, coming over and pressing a kiss to Patrick’s temple. “We can’t have you outdressing me,” he says, and Patrick chuckles and wraps his arms around him.

For once, David’s actually too nervous to eat. Patrick offers to make breakfast, but David is jittery, just wants to get in the car and get to the registry office, and then to Elmdale City Hall. The drive feels longer than usual as he turns the black velvet box over and over again in his hands. Patrick catches him, reaches over and tangles their fingers together with a private smile, and asks David what they should get to eat after to celebrate. He knows it’s a distraction tactic and he appreciates the gesture, jumping in to list off options.

The paperwork is alarmingly quick, and he doesn’t think he’d processed before just how easy it is to get married. They show their IDs and sign their names, and then just like that they have a stamped and official piece of paper in their hands that says they have 90 days.

Elmdale City Hall isn’t exactly bustling with activity when they walk in, but enough is going on that when Patrick says, “Hi, we’re here to get married,” and shows their form, the woman directs them to have a seat and wait just a moment.

So they do. David doesn’t even realize he’s vibrating with anxious energy until Patrick reaches over and puts a hand on his knee, squeezing lightly. “Sorry,” David whispers, jumping at the touch, and then trying to still himself.

Patrick shakes his head reassuringly, lips tipped up sweetly. “Okay?” he asks, and David nods, a little jerky. “You know, we can wait, do the whole thing at town hall with everyone there…”

David puts his hand over Patrick’s, letting out a deep breath. “This is perfect,” he murmurs, and he doesn’t know why he’s whispering, they’re not in a church. But Patrick’s face lights up and he concentrates on that instead, Patrick reaching out and pulling him in for an easy, familiar kiss.

“Brewer and Rose?” a woman calls, and she’s wearing long black robes, and David’s stomach is suddenly filled with butterflies.

Things start to get a little blurry then. He doesn’t remember what their vows are exactly or any specifics, just that it’s five minutes he’s standing across from Patrick, holding his hands, and smiling so hard his face hurts while his eyes brim with tears. Patrick looks so, so happy too, and he slides four rings onto David’s fingers, his hands shaking so hard that Patrick gives them a little squeeze when he’s done, a little gesture of _I’m here_ that prompts David’s tears to finally fall.

She finally says, “Now you may kiss,” and David laughs, unexpected and unbidden, bright and happy. Patrick’s looking at him like he’s his favorite thing in the world, rising onto his tiptoes slightly to kiss him, and David’s brain can’t stop whirring _we’re married we’re married we’re married_.

They ask a stranger to take their picture on the steps outside. They end up with two: one of them kissing and one where their faces are pressed together but they’re both laughing too hard to kiss. David will post them later, after they’ve had the time to tell their families, but for now he makes the laughing one his lockscreen, keeps thumbing it on absentmindedly throughout lunch just to look at it, just to remember it’s real.

He wishes he could explain that to people when they give them crap about not having a big wedding: the feeling of the day—like it was some kind of wonderful, perfect dream they shared together, just for them. But he can’t, and he doesn’t try.

“You know,” Patrick says, flopping down on the couch next to him at the end of the week, after yet another dinner with David’s family where his mom has spent the entire meal making passive-aggressive comments about how they _absconded away_ with the intention of _excluding and lambasting everyone._ “Maybe we should—”

“Oh my god,” David says, looking up from his phone and turning to Patrick with disbelief. “You are seriously not about to say what I think you’re going to say.”

Patrick gives him a crooked smile for a second before his face turns serious again. “Maybe we should… just _consider_ having a small little something—”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“—to include our families—”

“Absolutely not!”

“—and people in town—”

“ _Ugh!_ ”

“—since it seems like it would really mean a lot to them,” he finally finishes, giving David a meaningful look.

David folds his arms across his chest petulantly, letting out a huff of breath. He knows he’s pouting, but he can’t stop himself. “Why is it about them, anyway?” he whines. “Whoever told them they get a vote?”

Patrick chuckles, scooting closer, enough to press a soft kiss to David’s cheek. Then one at his jawline, then one behind his ear. David knows what he’s doing and is absolutely not going to fall for it. “They don’t. We had our day and this wouldn’t change that. I just don’t want your mother to hate me for the rest of our lives.”

David continues sulking, not giving an inch even when Patrick grazes his teeth over David’s earlobe, teasing. “I liked our small private ceremony,” he says weakly, and it comes out so much more honest than he really meant it to, like he gave something away.

Patrick pulls back with a patient sigh, smiling just a little like it charms him, despite David’s behavior. “I know. I did too. But this would just be—different, we’d get to do it differently. We could get dressed up, and take pictures, and have dancing and cake and… Whatever we want,” he says.

When he puts it like that, it sounds kind of reasonable, as much as David doesn’t want to admit it. He’s definitely not going to object to seeing Patrick in a tux, that’s for sure. And it would be sweet to see Patrick’s parents get all emotional, and Alexis would probably get misty too, and…

“So, hypothetically, if I wanted a buffet?” he asks, and Patrick’s laughing before David can even finish.

“Then I would say we could look at pricing some options,” he says, reasonably, the same no-nonsense voice he uses to tell David it’s his turn to sweep the floors at the shop. David tries not to shiver; he doesn’t know why it _does things_ to him but it definitely does.

David looks at him skeptically instead. “I thought, if we’re having a ‘wedding’”—he does overdramatic air quotes—“it was your job to say ‘whatever you want, honey.’”

Patrick shrugs, confident and stupidly attractive. “I am still the numbers guy,” he says, before scratching lightly at the hair at the back of his neck, guiding their lips together for a kiss.

So they give.

Everyone is unreasonably excited, trying to elbow their way into the planning and the offering their entirely unwanted opinions. It’s a lot, but honestly, David feels pretty chill about it. He knows what he wants but it also doesn’t feel life or death, because they’re already married. They already had a wedding, and everything was perfect, so this is just… a bonus.

They do it differently. They get fitted for tuxes and they book the town hall. They hire a photographer and get Ray to officiate (it’s one of his up and coming business offerings, of course). David asks Stevie to be his best person and she hits him so hard in the shoulder he swears it’s going to bruise, then she gets all teary and embarrassed and denies it thoroughly. His mother starts shopping for… [unconventional](https://www.etsy.com/listing/602618275/evening-dress-black-mother-of-the-bride?ref=shop_home_active_26) mother of the groom looks. They taste cakes (David’s favorite part so far) and set up catering at a hefty discount through one of their vendors.

And it’s fun, the planning process. David has to admit, it’s maybe better that it’s happening this way, because if this was it, if this was their real wedding, he probably would have been a lot more unbearable. He mentions this to Patrick, telling him he got off lucky, but Patrick just shakes his head, coming over to kiss him, quick and casual as he heads to the back room, calling over his shoulder.

“I’ll marry you as many times as you want, David Rose.”

David tries very hard not to get choked up at that. He fails.

There’s only one thing he really wants to change about their first ceremony, and he takes care of that too. He wants Patrick to have a ring. It was something David had always intended to fix and told Patrick so, the day of their first ceremony, but just hadn’t gotten around to yet.

He works on it in secret. It’s a simple golden band, very Patrick, nothing too flashy. What he’s most excited about is the engraving on the inside: the words “the best” with the date of their spontaneous ceremony. It comes in the mail; he has it shipped to the motel so that Patrick won’t see, and he’s admiring it excitedly when his father sees and absolutely loses it with happy, emotional tears. He cannot imagine what the actual day is going to be like, if just the preparations are making his family lose all holds on their sanity this way already.

They’d insisted on having it soon, because they didn’t want to drag out this drama any more than it’d already been dragged. So two months later it’s upon them: Patrick’s parents and aunts and uncles and cousins drive in the day before, selling out the motel. They have a little rehearsal dinner and order in pizzas for everyone in the wedding party, because Patrick hadn’t been kidding about the budget. David is the most charming version of himself, mingling all night and trying very hard to impress Patrick’s friends and family while trying his best to make it look effortless. He catches Patrick watching him out of the corner of his eye, looking amused and awed all at once, and David smiles back.

Mom had insisted that they spend the night apart (”Now is no time to tempt the Moirai, you two!” she’d said, and David knew she was proud of herself for that one), so David kisses him goodbye at the end of the night and heads back to the motel. Alexis stays the night too, more for old time’s sake than anything else, he thinks.

“What does it feel like?” she whispers, conspiratorial in the darkness after they’ve both turned the lights out. David’s tried to sleep for a while now, and it just isn’t coming.

He turns on his side to face her, squinting so his eyes adjust. She looks thrilled, excited, like a kid staying up on Christmas Eve to wait for Santa, and he feels a rush of affection for her.

“I’m already married,” he reminds her, and she rolls her eyes.

“I _know,_ David, but that was different.”

He sighs but capitulates, because she’s right. They hadn’t known, so he hadn’t gotten the delicious anticipation of waiting for what was going to happen the next day, knowing he and Patrick were going to be together for the rest of their lives.

“It feels like,” he tries, murmuring, so soft she has to crane in to hear him, “It feels like… the first time I kissed him. I knew I was going to do it, but I still felt all fizzy inside, because I couldn’t wait for it to start.”

He doesn’t meet her eyes, can’t look at her in this moment, lost thinking about the look on Patrick’s face when he’d leaned in—so hopeful and open and tender. He doesn’t know if he could take it if Alexis said anything, called him out on his sappiness right now, but luckily she doesn’t. When he looks at her she’s just wearing a very happy smirk, an edge of pride there that makes him roll his eyes.

She sighs, flipping onto her back. “It’s quiet,” she says, and he hums in agreement.

“If only it was this quiet when I was still living here,” he quips, then laughs when she launches a pillow at him. Alexis shushes him instinctively, like a reflex from when they were kids.

“Whatever,” she grumbles. “At least I get the bathroom to myself in the morning.” It doesn’t come out near as grumpy as he knows she intends, a ring of happiness to it, and she would never say it but he knows she misses him. He misses her too: misses annoying the hell out of her, misses being there when something in her life didn’t go right, misses being involved the nitty-gritty, day-to-day of her life.

“Can’t tell from your makeup,” he says quickly, earning a groan from her side of the room.

“Go to _sleep_ , David!”

He pauses, watches her curl up and turn away from him, and marvels at the way he can miss her when she’s right here, miss her for tomorrow already. “Goodnight, Alexis.”

The next morning, he feels much less generous toward his entire family as they all scramble to get ready and down to town hall in a timely fashion. It’s a real trial of a morning. Alexis does _not_ compromise on her new and improved longer bathroom routine—“There will be _pictures_ , David!”—his mother tries on five different wigs out of nerves before eventually settling on the one she’d originally picked out two months ago, and Dad looks like he’s about to cry every time David speaks or moves or breathes.

By the time they get into town he’s about to lose it, and luckily Stevie hurries him off to the back room to listen to him rant about his morning while everyone files in and gets seated. Finally she says it’s almost time, and then they wait for the music to start. He and Patrick had decided they’d walk in from opposite sides at the same time instead of having one person walk awkwardly down the aisle, and he’s shifting foot to foot with extra energy. He knows Alexis is already standing out there, and Ray, and Patrick’s best people, his cousins Connor and Sean. “Let’s get this over with,” he mumbles, and Stevie levels him with a devastatingly knowing look.

“Right,” she says, dripping with sarcasm, and the music starts off so she hurries out, and David starts mentally counting his way in.

He walks out and is immediately hit hard by how many people are there for them. He’s never seen the town hall so packed. He presses his lips together hard, feeling so silly and on display but also warm, unexpectedly grateful for all of the familiar faces.

It’s nothing compared to the electric jolt that goes through him when he sees Patrick.

He looks so gorgeous in his tux, his cheeks a little flushed and his hair fluffed up just right (David suspects Alexis’ influence there), but more than anything, he looks so fucking happy. He takes David’s hands in his own as they step in front of Ray and breathes, “Hi,” and David immediately feels overcome, just shakes his head tightly and lets out a quiet, watery laugh.

David swears he’s going to memorize every single moment that’s different, but once it actually starts, he has trouble concentrating on anything that's not every flicker across Patrick’s face. Wants to save his laugh during Ray’s opening, the way his eyes look warm and impossibly in love, the way he fiddles with David’s fingertips, unconscious. He just can’t get over how incredibly lucky he is to marry Patrick not once but twice, and he doesn’t want to take a single second of it for granted.

If pressed, he would admit his favorite part is after Patrick’s slid the four golden rings onto his fingers, and then Ray prompts, “David?” and Stevie steps forward with the ring. Patrick’s face goes confused and then surprised and then moved, and David can’t help but grin at him. Patrick’s hands are trembling just enough so only David can see as he says “With this ring, I thee wed,” and it’s enough to make David’s eyes sting. He blinks rapidly to keep it at bay. He didn’t _care_ if he cried in front of the lady in Elmdale, which was definitely an added benefit to that ceremony. (Though he does hear Stevie crying very messily beside him and trying to hide it, so he figures he’s not the worst one, at least.)

Ray finally says, “I now pronounce you married!” and such a _cheer_ goes up from everyone around them that David thinks wildly that this was worth it, after all, just for that. He leans in and kisses Patrick before Ray even tells him he can, both hands on the sides of Patrick’s face, unable to wait any longer. Everyone laughs at that, pure joy, and he feels the heat under Patrick’s skin, and it’s perfect.

They can both be perfect, he thinks.

They take pictures after. Ones with all Patrick’s cousins piled in, rowdy and excited, and Patrick’s mom holds David’s hand and gets all misty on him and he _adores_ her. Ones with his own family, which they forcibly pull Stevie into—she acts embarrassed and hesitant at first, but David sees her duck her head, hiding a pleased smile. It feels like they take pictures with literally everyone who came: some with Roland and Jocelyn, arguably the most excited person there today, which makes David feel very fond; one with all the vendors who came (the way the guest list had ballooned was honestly kind of impressive); one with Patrick’s baseball team and one with Twyla and Ronnie and Bob and Ray and some with Ted and Alexis and David thinks maybe Darlene’s cousin even snuck into a random one, at some point. It’s so much, it feels like it takes hours, but everyone is so genuinely thrilled for them that David doesn’t even mind.

Then everyone else is shooed away and it’s just the two of them, and the photographer is posing them this way and that. He wants to get a close-up on the rings, and David says, “Just a second,” sliding Patrick’s ring off his finger and holding it out to him so he can examine the inside.

Patrick’s breath catches as his eyes flit over the engraving. David can hear the photographer snapping away regardless, but pretends not to notice.

“I didn’t think you would have anything yet,” Patrick admits, voice all rough and low like he’s trying very hard not to cry.

“It was literally the one part I wanted to change from last time, of course I made it happen,” he says, easy, but Patrick is looking at him like it’s something big, like David did something amazing instead of just online shopping.

“I love it,” he says, grinning and crying all at once, and then David’s doing the same, and then they’re both laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, because surely they shouldn’t be this emotional the second time around.

All of the pictures come out amazing, of course, but that one is David’s favorite. When they get them all back, he takes it and the one of them laughing on the steps outside of City Hall and puts them on opposite sides of the mantle. A perfectly balanced depiction of the messy, gorgeous intimacy that was present for both their weddings.

He lets Patrick pick out the frames.


	2. waking up in vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU where David still has his whole life in NYC, but his parents inform him his whole business is an elaborate scam. Now David needs a business manager to try and keep his gallery afloat. Enter Patrick Brewer, who has just run away from his whole former life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's so much more of this AU that lives in my head (thanks to Lena, especially, for that!), but in the interests of this not becoming 30k and taking two months, this is what I got. :)
> 
> Title from [Katy Perry](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-pUaogoX5o).

2.

 

 

Patrick is not used to waking up in unfamiliar places, and he’s decided he doesn’t really like it.

His head’s throbbing and he’s so hungover it feels like there’s a golf ball lodged in his throat. When he opens his eyes, what hits him first is how bright it is—it feels like a personal affront. What hits him second is that this is definitely not the sparse, nondescript hotel room he’d deposited his luggage in this afternoon.

This is the penthouse. And if this is the penthouse…

He sits up in bed to see David lying next to him.

“Oh my god.”

David startles awake at his words. He looks less composed than Patrick’s ever seen him—his clothes mussed from sleep, his hair all disheveled. Patrick’s sure he doesn’t look any better, but there’s something really striking seeing David this way. He usually looks so… cool, so untouchable. Patrick blushes at the thought.

“What the fuck?” David mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. His voice sounds rough and intimate, uncomposed. “What are you doing here?”

“I wish I knew,” Patrick says, looking around to see his pants, button down, and socks strewn across the floor. He’s still in his undershirt and boxers at least, which is a small mercy. His button-down is tangled up with David’s fancy sweatshirt, and their socks are flung together on the floor. He looks over at David again, reaching to adjust the duvet, feeling self-conscious about his state of undress when David still has on a black t-shirt and black skinny jeans, and then his heart stops.

“Oh god,” he says, voice shaking and sounding unrecognizable even to himself.

David groans. “What now, what could make this morning worse?”

Patrick holds up his left hand. His third finger is currently sporting one of David’s ubiquitous silver rings.

David makes a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a choking noise.

“Oh _god_ ,” Patrick repeats, because this is bad, this is very, very bad.

David sits up hurriedly, yanking at his hand to examine the offending ring. “Okay, what the actual _fuck_ is happening here.”

“I don’t know,” Patrick says, his voice sounding weak even to his own ears. He feels kind of dizzy right now, actually. “You, you don’t remember anything?” he asks, sounding desperate and not caring one little bit.

David looks up at him and bites his lip, flushing guiltily.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Patrick says, for what feels like the hundredth time, reclaiming his hand from David’s so that he can cover his entire face.

“No, not—not _that,_ , I definitely don’t remember exchanging any rings. I just—now that you mention it, I do remember you coming back up here, and… um.” Patrick peeks at him through his fingers, afraid. David winces. “Making out?”

Patrick lets himself fall back onto the bed with a groan, hands still over his face. He is absolutely mortified. He can feel the heat radiating from him, and thinks with certainty that this is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him. What is _even_ happening to him—normal people don’t go to Vegas and drunkenly make out with their coworker, let alone possibly marry them.

This was supposed to be a quick, normal trip. But then, nothing about working with David Rose has been especially normal.

David had been… tense, when Patrick had interviewed for the job. He’d been uncertain and prickly, explaining that he needed a business manager for his gallery, and that it needed to be someone he could trust, because he’d recently found out that his parents had bought out all his patrons, who were fake, and apparently begged artists to work with him. Patrick had mostly concentrated on trying not to look too flabbergasted at the amount of personal information that was hurtling at him at a very quick pace and simultaneously process it as fast as he could.

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” he’d said, shifting in his seat a little and trying not to look too profoundly uncomfortable. “Did… did you need to ask me any other questions about the particulars of the business manager position?” because he knew the answers to those. He wanted to look competent, more so than usual for some reason, like he was the kind of person who knew what he was doing. Someone steady, someone you could depend on.

“Oh. Um, yes,” David said, shuffling some papers around on his desk, and then looking up at Patrick like he was just—lost. Patrick was surprised at the way his heart in his chest sort of twisted painfully at that thought. “I see you were a business major. Are you good at… spreadsheets?”

He grimaces after the words come out, but doesn’t follow up with anything, like he doesn’t like them but can’t come up with anything else.

Patrick had grinned. “Yes, David. Yes, I happen to be very good at spreadsheets.”

David had looked both impressed at the confidence and at the teasing tone of Patrick’s answer, his face trying for a smirk that he didn’t let it fully bloom across his face, twisting his mouth to the side instead. They’d tried for other questions and answers, but that was the moment Patrick knew he was hired.

Despite David’s backstory and the fact that he’d seemingly iced out his family, threatening to cut ties even further if they attempted to “help” with his business again, things at David’s gallery didn’t fall apart. Artists still wanted to be involved, patrons still showed up. Maybe it had built enough of a buzz and reputation at this point that its origins didn’t matter?

The books were another story, unfortunately. They were a mess, and Patrick spent a lot of time in David’s office, the two of them trying to make any kind of sense of them. There were definitely some late nights, which might have gone even later if some… artist or model or general celebrity Patrick didn’t recognize didn’t knock on the office door basically every night and like, beckon David away with their finger. David always jumped up immediately, awkwardly rushing for his things and saying they should call it a night. Guys, girls, it didn’t seem to matter, but rarely (if ever) the same person twice. There was something about it that made Patrick’s stomach twist in the worst way; something so casual and borderline callous about the way the other person always just— _summoned_ him, almost, and the way David jumped at it every time. He can never seem to stop thinking about it after, on the way home to his postage stamp New York City apartment, nearly empty but for a mattress and a few bags. He’ll lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, fuming about it, completely unable to articulate why.

Other than that, he likes working with David. He still can’t pretend to know anything about contemporary art, which David loves to tease him about. But underneath all the insecurity, Patrick can see a deep sense of drive and a truly impressive desire to really prove himself. He’s a hard worker, when he wants to be, holding his own with Patrick in PR brainstorming sessions. And he’s charming as hell, able to convince artists into doing a show or tipping a possible patron off the ledge of indecisiveness and into a sale, making it look effortless. Patrick actually looks forward to coming to work everyday, not just because there are actual stakes here instead of just the feeling of pushing papers he was getting back home, but because he likes spending time with David. He’s interesting, and he’s funny, and he’s unlike anyone he’s ever met. Patrick… Patrick really likes him, which is refreshing and exciting and confusing, all at once.

Which is also why it’s uniquely uncomfortable that he apparently spent last night marrying him, and then shamelessly making out with him.

He remembers a lot of yesterday. He remembers flying out, meeting with the artist who was the whole reason they were here in the first place. He remembers David sealing the deal, and the two of them going out for a celebratory dinner and drinks and… well, he doesn’t remember much after that, so that must have been where things started going wrong.

“If it makes you feel better, you were really a perfect gentleman,” David says, sounding nervous. “You kept, um. You kept asking if I was sure, which was really nice. No one’s ever asked me that before,” he admits, voice going kind of soft and quiet on the last part, and Patrick has to look at him. He’s curled in on himself, his arms tight around his legs, like he wants to be as small as possible. He won’t look at Patrick.

Something big and messy and complex chokes at Patrick’s heart at that confession, and he’s filled with the overwhelming sensation of just wanting to take _care_ of David, to protect him from the world.

And he really, really wishes he could remember what it was like to kiss David. He wants it so bad it hurts.

“It was a really… um. Lovely. One night of marriage,” David says, clearly making a joke, but a thrill still goes through Patrick at the words. Then David’s face goes self-deprecating, and Patrick hates it. “Probably the only night of marriage I’ll ever have, so. Consider yourself lucky. Or extremely unlucky, actually. But obviously we can get it taken care of, I don’t know the first thing about getting an annulment but um, it can’t be too hard, it must happen a lot out here—”

“David,” he says, and god, he can’t believe he’s saying this; he really, really can’t. But David’s a public person—a famous one, even, and he doesn’t want him and everything he’s worked for to become some kind of crass tabloid joke. He couldn’t do that to him, knowing what happened with his parents recently and how much it messed with David’s head. He worries enough that everyone thinks he’s a wreck and a failure. “The thing is, I don’t think it would be very positive publicity for the gallery if we, um. Got an annulment after one night.”

David goes kind of still, eyes frozen on Patrick like he’s trying very hard to concentrate. “Oh. Uh. What are you saying?”

Patrick winces. “I just, I think it would probably look better for—the business—if we pretended to give it a couple months.”

A small little ghost of a smirk edges its way onto David’s face, and Patrick can’t parse it. He continues nervously. “I know that would probably cramp your style, though.”

David’s brow furrows, and the smirk is still there, but less sure now. “What does that mean, ‘cramp my style?’” He does ridiculous, over-the-top air quotes, and Patrick rolls his eyes gently, picks at the comforter to distract himself.

“I mean. Sorry, that sounds like I’m making assumptions about marriage and like, I don’t know, _monogamy_ , or whatever, and I know this isn’t real and I don’t mean to. I’m just saying, for as long as we need to, we could make this function however—”

“ _Oh,_ ” David says, comprehension dawning on his face. Comprehension and a little bit of discomfort. “Um. I don’t think there’s anyone I’d trust to, like. Get involved in this?” he says, and the thought makes Patrick’s chest ache. All those people showing up to take him home, and he doesn’t trust any of them?

But David is still talking, because of course he can’t hear Patrick’s inward spiral. “Though obviously for you, if you wanted, we could work out an arrangement.” He’s chewing his lip now, the way he does when he’s thinking hard about things like aesthetics or where to order pizza or how to prove himself. The way he does when he thinks about things he really cares about.

Patrick gapes at him. “I’m sorry, did you forget the whole, like, I realized I didn’t love my fiance and moved to a whole other country about it… thing?”

David flushes, smile coming back out a little more now. Patrick feels like he spends an awful lot of time playing this game, trying to draw it out as fully as he can. He enjoys it more than he’s willing to admit. “No,” David says softly, something knowing in his tone. “No, I didn’t forget.” He ducks his head and smiles down at the mattress, and something flutters in Patrick’s chest.

“Okay,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand frustratedly over his face, because he really needs to get a handle on this whole situation. “Right, can you just tell me more about, like. What you remember, because I’m feeling really at a disadvantage here,” he admits, and when he looks back up, David’s face is kind of… open. Tender and gentle, which are not usually words Patrick would use to describe David.

“Um,” David starts, folding his legs and the little crinkle of concentration reappearing between his brows. Patrick loves that crinkle, he wants to kiss it. Fuck, he hopes he hasn’t already, because that would be such a goddamn waste, to not be able to remember it. “Okay, well, we were eating, and we were drinking, obviously. We were kind of—laughing a lot and. And I asked you more about Rachel, because I wanted to know, and you’ve talked about her before but you seemed. Tense? And you weren’t tense, last night,” he says, and Patrick feels his ears burning, even though David’s not looking at him. David’s gaze is fixed on a spot on the wall, and he’s running through this without emotion, more recitation than anything, even if it’s stop-start.

He clears his throat before continuing. “You said about feeling like marriage was this big anchor, almost, like it was weighing down your heart or something, I don’t know, I don’t remember exactly,” David says, shaking his head hurriedly, and Patrick feels himself go a little bit pink. “And you said you wondered if it was like that for everyone, a little bit.”

Patrick’s stomach swoops, a little guiltily, for a couple of reasons. The first being that it’s profoundly disorienting to hear the thoughts you’ve kept locked and spinning around your head for months come casually out of someone else’s month. The second is that Patrick _knows_ it’s not like that for everyone. He’s not blind; he grew up with parents who truly adored each other. He and Rachel had plenty of friends who couldn’t have been more thrilled to marry each other.

What he really meant—and what he’s so thankful he didn’t say to David directly, in his less inhibited state—is that he wondered if it was ever going to be any different for _him_.

When he and Rachel had been engaged, and there were still so many fucking games involved. He’d he’d wanted getting married to mean love and forever and all of those things, of course, but what was missing with Rachel and what he had hoped for the most was just… being able to relax. Of not feeling like you we’re constantly trying to prove something, whether to yourself or the other person.

“So we went to the chapel—there were more drinks there, and we had some, so I don’t remember… I just remember coming back up here with you, and we were kissing, and you were asking me if I was sure and I was asking if everything was okay and.” He stops himself suddenly, like he doesn’t want to say.

“And?” Patrick prompts.

“And,” David says, swallowing hard and finally making eye contact. “And you said you felt light.”

The thing is, now that he says that, Patrick does kind of remember, and he’s sure it shows on his face. It’s fuzzy and blurry around the edges, missing parts and moments, but. He remembers stumbling back into the penthouse and pulling back to look at David’s face, and thinking that he’d never seen him smile so fully. He had felt kind of… fizzy and bubbly in his chest, something akin to excitement, yet not quite that.

“Oh,” Patrick says, and David raises an eyebrow at him, intrigued and silent, waiting for Patrick to process it in his head.

“I was really happy.”

David just waits, like he can see Patrick’s mind working.

He tilts his head at David slightly. He remembers how soft David’s eyes were when Patrick had been in his arms.

“And you… you were happy too?”

David blinks fast and nods, his eyes steady and shining.

“David,” Patrick breathes, moving in, and before he’s fully aware of what he’s doing he has a hand on the back of David’s neck and he’s kissing him, sure and slow and out of his mind, probably, but David is gasping into his mouth and kissing him back just as carefully.

He feels it again, the giddy rightness of this coursing through him. He’d just, he’d just needed to _see_ , because now he’s painfully sober and he wanted to remember every second of David’s lips pressed against his own. Of David’s tongue in his mouth and his fingers clutching Patrick’s shoulder, the hitch in his breath when Patrick had leaned in.

He pulls away after a moment, far enough to see all of David’s face but not far enough that David has to let go of him. He kind of looks like the wind has been knocked out of him, a little bit, and Patrick feels the same way. “Sorry,” he murmurs, because it all just happened so fast, feeling a blush rising over his cheeks.

David presses his lips together and shakes his head before Patrick can continue. He breathes out slow for a second, lips forming a perfect circle and eyes squeezed shut, like he’s collecting himself. When he opens them again there’s a warmth there, like he knows exactly what Patrick was doing and what his motivations were, and he doesn’t mind. “If we’re going to pretend this is, um. Real. For a little while. We’re probably going to need some more practice with that,” David says, a mischievous smile slowly taking over his features, and Patrick’s stomach flip flops pleasantly at the sight.

“Yeah?” Patrick asks, voice kind of unbelieving but pleased.

“Mhm,” David nods, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Almost… playful, and god, it’s so attractive that Patrick hurts with how much he wants him. “For the gallery, of course.”

Patrick laughs this time. “For the gallery,” he agrees.

He leans in and kisses David again, and David loops his arms around Patrick’s neck and tugs him in, so that David’s on his back and Patrick’s on top of him, kissing him with heat and want and feeling, but still slow and lazy. He feels so good. He’s never been so happy to be hungover in his life.

And the thing is, he knows this is a truly ridiculous plan. He knows in a couple months this will all be over; the marriage will be annulled and they’ll be back to their real lives at the gallery, and it will all seem like a silly, far-fetched dream: that time he was married to David Rose.

But maybe not.

Because right now, David is kissing him like it’s real, and Patrick doesn’t feel any of the heavy dread that had settled into his chest the moment he’d slipped the ring onto Rachel’s finger—just a tingling exhilaration all the way down to his toes. And he’s going to keep chasing that feeling for as long as he can.


	3. grow old with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU in which David and Patrick grow up as childhood best friends who make a promise when they're fifteen years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my BABY, I FED and RAISED and LOVED HER myself and feel simultaneously proud and emotional to be sending her out into the world. *sob* It's another one where I could just, live in this universe and write in it forever (basically already TWICE the length of the other chapters, lol), I'm so sorry.
> 
> Title from [The Wedding Singer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPsW2FYprfI) (and is kind of essential to the chapter, actually, so if you haven't heard it, you should listen).

3.

 

There are quite a few perks to being best friends with David Rose since the very first day of school, when you were five years old. Patrick wouldn’t necessarily rank watching movies before they come out in the Rose family theater in the top ten, but it doesn’t suck.

They have these really comfortable reclining chairs there, and a fancy projector, and a popcorn machine and these custom dimmable lights. Patrick has a lot of good memories in here—there was a sleepover when they were in fourth grade when Adelina had to leave early and David’s parents weren’t home (they rarely were), so they’d been able to sneakily put on Mr. Rose’s screener of _Candyman_. They’d both watched through their fingers and then had nightmares for weeks, though of course they couldn’t tell anyone why. There was the first time they watched _Clueless_ , which Patrick would happily relive any time because David’s facial expressions throughout had just been that good.

Tonight had been Patrick’s pick. He kind of liked a little bit of everything, and had mainly selected _The Wedding Singer_ because it looked kind of funny. It was going to be touch and go with David, he knew, because on the one hand he loves romantic comedies, but on the other, he hates Adam Sandler.

Patrick keeps sneaking glances at David out of the corner of his eye, though, the way he always does on nights like these. The lights are dim enough that David never notices, and there’s something about the way the screen lights up his already expressive face that Patrick loves. And tonight, there’s a lot to take in—his face went from initially annoyed, to begrudgingly interested, and now Adam Sandler is singing on a plane to Drew Barrymore and he has his hands pressed over the wide smile he’s trying to hide, his eyes alight.

“Oh my god,” he says when it’s over, throwing himself dramatically across the recliner. “That was literally? _The_ most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.”

Patrick chuckles, muting the end credits but making no move to turn on the lights on yet. “Even more than _Sleepless in Seattle_ , with the Empire State—”

“ _Yes,_ David says, impatient and fervent, which only makes Patrick laugh harder. He’s literally witnessed David’s dramatics for as long as he can remember, but they never fail to amuse him. He snaps up, ready to argue his point as always. “Did you see that beautiful song he sang for her? He’s going to build her a fire and give her his coat! He’s going to do her dishes forever! That’s the pinnacle of true love!” Patrick holds up his hands to indicate his lack of argument and David flops back down, groaning.

“So, you liked it,” Patrick teases, and David shoots him a kind of soft glare, rolling his eyes when Patrick doesn’t give.

“Yes,” he says, his voice a lot quieter now. “I liked it.”

It’s silent for a minute. This happens to them sometimes; Patrick doesn’t know if it’s because they grew up together and know basically everything about one another, or if all best friends sometimes have these moments, where you’re looking at each other and saying nothing and everything all at once. He doesn’t have anything else to compare it to. Sure, he has other friends: people from hockey and baseball and friends from theater club or advanced-track classes, but it isn’t the same.

“It was a really nice song,” Patrick admits, breaking David’s gaze and the quiet all at once. He’s already wondering if he can find the music somewhere. He could learn it on guitar.

“The _perfect_ song,” David insists. “He wants to take care of her forever, fuck. Can you imagine?” He sighs kind of dreamily, eyes unfocused as the names roll up the screen.

There’s a twinge of sadness in his tone that Patrick notices. It’s been happening more and more lately and he doesn’t like it. David came out at school a few months ago, and while it hasn’t been tragic or horrific or anything, it’s not like he exactly runs with the popular crowd. He’s an eccentric dresser, and his words are always sharp and he can be somewhat intimidating, if that’s all you knew of him. So of course there are people who don’t get it, who want to add this label to just another reason in a long list of why David is a freak. Patrick wants to fight all of them, but that’s not the point here.

His own first impression of David had been the very first day of nursery school. David had been even-keel the whole day until it was time to go home. Patrick was waiting to go to the daycare room since his mom still had a few more hours at work, but all the other kid’s parents had come and David’s nanny hadn’t shown up yet. It was past time for her to be there. He’d started crying—big crocodile tears rolling down his cheeks, but he’d been completely silent. Without even thinking about it, Patrick had gone over and grabbed his hand and squeezed it, hard, and David had hiccuped, eyes going wide in surprise, and stopped crying. They’d been best friends ever since.

But now they’re fifteen, and David’s dated girls and kissed boys and come out and been called names, and sometimes he gets this look in his eye, like he can’t imagine the future. Last week David stayed over, and at dinner Patrick’s mother had been talking about his cousin’s upcoming wedding, and he could barely concentrate on what she was saying because David’s face had gone all overcast and sad. Like he couldn’t imagine ending up with someone, like the very idea of forever was out of reach for him. Patrick hates it.

“Hey,” he says, trying to keep his voice light and teasing but still honest. “You know what we should do?”

“Mm, order pizza,” David says, nodding along and reaching for the phone.

Patrick laughs, throwing a hand out and landing it on David’s knee. David stills immediately, frozen, something wide and careful in his eyes.

“Let’s say if we’re both 30 and neither of us are married, we’ll marry each other.”

David _laughs_. It’s startled right out of him, but when Patrick doesn’t laugh too, he stops, clapping a hand over his mouth. “You’re serious?” he asks, voice breaking into a squeak at the end.

“Yeah,” Patrick says, shrugging, easy. “I mean. You’re gonna need someone to take care of you forever.”

David narrows his eyes at him, sarcastic and a little bit uncertain, even as Patrick lets his grin take over. “Please. You don’t know what you’d do without me.” He tips his chin up, a little bit dramatic and silly, but there’s truth to that statement and they both know it. Patrick’s grin deepens.

They watch each other for a moment, like they’re both waiting for the other person to break and call it out as a joke. But they don’t.

“Okay,” David says, after what seems like a very long minute. “So how do we do this?”

They end up shaking on it. David jokes they should still get pizza, to celebrate. He lets Patrick pick the toppings.

 

//

 

Over the course of the next two years, they kind of forget about it. Patrick gets his heart stepped on and bruised by Rachel and does the same to her in return, and David seems to throw himself willingly into any romantic scenario where the other person will hurt him. Patrick feels fiercely protective of him nearly all the time, but grits his teeth and doesn’t let it show, because it’s none of his business.

They graduate, and things change. David goes to college in New York. Patrick stays close to home and studies business. They don’t grow apart, necessarily, but they lead separate lives now. Patrick makes out with a boy at a party, drunk, and doesn’t tell David about it. David, on the other hand, tells Patrick every detail of his three month relationship with Sebastien Raine, and Patrick has to take deep breaths to calm down after those phone calls.

“Hey,” David says softly down the line one evening. It’s a balmy night in August. Patrick’s sitting by the window of his childhood bedroom, looking at the sky. David hadn’t come home this summer, choosing to stay in the city to avoid some family drama that Patrick can’t really follow. “You should fly out and see me here, sometime. I want—I miss you.”

It’s such an unabashed and surprising confession that Patrick agrees without even thinking about it. He saves up as much as he can over the next few weeks and buys a ticket bound for JFK in December. David’s coming back for the holidays too and is going to fly home with him. Patrick feels uncharacteristically nervous and doesn’t know why, can’t parse why seeing David for what feels like a long while could get him all worked up like this. There’s no one in his life he trusts the same way, no one he knows the same way. It’s stupid, it will be fine.

David picks him up at the airport, even though Patrick insisted he was very capable of taking a cab. Still, he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees him, happy he came anyway.

“Hey,” he sighs, throwing an arm around David and pulling him into a hug. It feels like lying down at the end of a long day, like rewatching an old movie you love. Like relief and comfort and home.

“Hi,” David says when he pulls back. He’s inappropriately dressed for New York in December, ripped jeans and a leather jacket over a white t-shirt, but he still looks so good. He’s smiling so hard and trying not to show it, but the corners of his eyes have gone all crinkly and given him away. God, Patrick’s missed him so much.

They go back to David’s apartment to throw his bags down, and then they go for dinner. There’s a sushi place David swears by, and Patrick doesn’t even mind that the walk over there takes forever. They talk nonstop the whole time, catching up on everything they’ve missed recently—Alexis’ latest international incident and the new cat Patrick’s family adopted, how school is going for them both. David doesn’t mention seeing anyone, and he’s not normally hesitant to share that information with Patrick, so he assumes he isn’t. David asks politely about Rachel and Patrick tells him that’s done. “For real this time,” he adds, at the skeptical raise of David’s eyebrow.

They eat, they continue talking, and then they walk back. David points out some of his favorite places along the way, settings for stories Patrick’s heard about but is absurdly excited to match a mental image to. They stop for ice cream even though it’s cold out, because David says it’s the best in the city.

It is excellent. Patrick gets chocolate raspberry and David goes for lavender. Patrick screws his face up distastefully after trying it, which makes David laugh, really laugh. And then Patrick’s laughing too, both of them giddy, and he would say it’s the long flight or the cold or the saké they had maybe too much of at the restaurant, but he knows it’s not. It’s just—this.

When they catch their breath, David lets out a sigh, and that’s when Patrick notices he’s shivering. Teeth chattering, even.

“Oh my god, stop. Hold on. Where did all your Canadian go?” he asks, stopping on the sidewalk and taking David’s ice cream out of his hand, setting their bowls on someone’s front stoop while he shrugs off his own coat.

“I’m _fine_ ,” David insists, in a voice that means he thinks Patrick’s being ridiculous, but Patrick is wearing at least three layers and David’s wearing a t-shirt with artfully distressed holes in it. As a feature.

He shoots him a skeptical look and moves to put the coat over his shoulders, and David reaches back and lets him. Patrick picks up their ice cream, hands David his, and resumes walking.

It’s quiet. The conversation has been going so fast tonight that it feels noticeable, and when he looks over at David, butterflies flit around his stomach. David looks so incredibly soft in his clothes, his expression sort of secretive. He’s holding the cuff of Patrick’s sleeve up to his face, and when he catches Patrick looking, he smiles, brave.

“It smells like you,” he murmurs, ducking his head, and Patrick’s heart skips a beat.

“David,” he says, stopping again, but this time David doesn’t notice. Patrick reaches out to grab his hand before he gets too far away, and David spins around, confused. Patrick pulls him in and kisses him and David gasps into his mouth. His hand reaches up to cup the side of Patrick’s face, the cuff of his jacket brushing skin, and Patrick’s pressing into the small of his back and trying to get him impossibly closer.

They pull away after what feels like a long moment. Patrick can see a blush blooming under David’s skin as he bites his lip, eyes wide and surprised. Patrick breathes out, hoping his voice is steady. “Was that—”

David buries his face in Patrick’s neck. Patrick can feel the heat there and rubs his hand across David’s lower back, waiting him out.

“I missed you,” David says, his voice rough, and Patrick laughs softly, his heart jumping in his chest at the words. It means so much on its own, but the way David says it, Patrick knows it means even more than that.

“I missed you too.”

David stands up straight, still in the circle of Patrick’s hold. He’s wearing a small, private, hopeful smile, and Patrick can feel his own lips tip up in response. He’s not used to being able to look at David like this, straight on and uninterrupted, so much more used to sneaking glances so he doesn’t get caught. They’re both still holding onto their ice cream, now melting in the little plastic bowls, and it feels like such a silly, ridiculous detail. Like he can’t believe that minutes ago they were joking and making fun of each other’s flavor choices like old times when now, Patrick’s whole world has tilted on its axis.

“Come on,” David says, untangling them, and they resume their walk back to David’s apartment. Patrick reaches out hesitantly, brushing David’s pinky finger with his own. David catches it, threading their fingers together, swinging their hands slightly as they go.

David pours them both glasses of wine and they talk even more when they get back. They sit on opposite ends of the couch, filling in the places they’d left deliberate blanks before. David talks about crying for two months when he first moved here, feeling so alone and lost. Patrick tells him about Rachel casually mentioning how they’d be married someday and the way he’d freaked out. They say so much that Patrick wonders if they’re going to have any words left in the morning. The blanket and pillow David had gotten out for the couch end up going unused, with both of them stripping down to t-shirts and boxers and crawling into David’s bed.

Patrick stares at him across the pillows because he can now, at least until David can’t take it any longer and shakes his head, covering his face with his hands, lips pressed together hard to keep from smiling. Patrick surges forward, knocking his hands out of the way, and kisses him, thumb brushing over his cheek and fingers scratching at the short hairs at the back of his neck. David’s kisses are—perfect, with warmth and depth and teasing, and Patrick has never felt like this.

“I wanted you to do that for so long,” David admits into the darkness when they break apart to breathe. “I can’t even… I can’t even _remember_ how long, now.”

The breath hitches in Patrick’s chest, the thought of David wanting him from so close but still so far away all at once. “Me too,” he says, thinking of the handful of parties where he’d gotten drunk and kissed Hunter Morris because something in his face looked a little like David, of the phone calls where David had talked about all his romantic misadventures and Patrick had felt like there was a monster in his chest, sitting greedily and heavily on his heart.

David smirks. “No, like— _long_. Like, green and white varsity baseball uniform long.”

Patrick squawks at him, mouth falling open, and David looks shy but also delighted to have elicited such a reaction. “David! We were _fourteen_.”

He shrugs, tangling their feet together and moving closer. “I used to dream about you backing me up and kissing me against the lockers in front of everyone,” and his voice is still quiet, and Patrick knows how much it must be taking for him to say all this. “I didn’t go to the grad dance because I knew you’d be there with Rachel.”

Patrick feels speechless; he can’t think of the last time he didn’t know what to say to David this way. “But… you said you were sick. You’d _bought tickets._ ”

“I didn’t want you to suspect anything!” David protests, unable to stop grinning even when he’s on the defensive, and Patrick loves it. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen David so happy.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he breathes, more than a little in awe, and David squirms.

“I just… I didn’t want to freak you out. I didn’t know what you felt about me, and I didn’t want to torpedo my relationship with my best friend.” He chews his lip.

And Patrick… Patrick doesn’t know what he would have said either, honestly, if things had happened differently. He didn’t know the way David did, sure and certain and all at once. Instead, he had slowly pieced together from a bunch of little moments: the memory from a sleepover when they were ten, where David had fallen off Patrick’s bed from laughing so hard at some dumb joke; the time David had told Darren Sutton to fuck off for being homophobic when they were fifteen, and Patrick’s breath had hitched at his fierce eyes and sharp expression; when he saw David kiss Stevie Budd when they were seventeen and felt sick to his stomach; David in the crowd at his open mic performance two summers ago, smiling at him soft and proud.

“I always knew it was different with you,” Patrick says, voice thick. “I—I didn’t know why for sure until you left. And all I wanted was for you to come back.”

David’s shaking slightly in his arms, his eyes so bright as he nods, not looking at Patrick directly. “I want—” he tries, cutting himself off with a deep breath and rolling them so that Patrick’s on his back and David’s straddling his hips. He presses a hand to the center of Patrick’s chest. “I want you to stay,” he says, so quiet.

Patrick nods. He could remind him that they’re flying home in a week, and that after that David will come back here, and that there’s another year and a half before either of them are done with school. But he doesn’t. He knows that’s not what David means.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says instead, smoothing a hand gently up David’s arm.

David presses down and kisses him, hungry, and then they don’t speak for a long while.

When they’re back home, everything is the same but everything is different. Patrick’s mom walks in them kissing on his tiny twin bed—fully clothed and sitting upright, thank god—and yelps but then immediately goes misty with happiness. David blushes and smiles and Patrick can tell how much it means to him.

Patrick braves the Rose family Christmas party, which is something David has always absolutely _begged_ him to stay away from before. He watches David and his mother sing a truly nonsensical holiday medley and laughs about it with Alexis, shakes hands and accepts congratulations from Mr. Rose. Mrs. Rose apparently already thought they’d been dating, which makes David roll his eyes hard.

Stevie throws a party for New Year’s and they go. There’s music and drinking and board games with some of their old school friends, and it’s good to see everyone and catch up. Ted Mullens throws up on David’s very expensive shoes, and it takes everything Patrick has not to burst out laughing at the expression on David’s face. But the best part is when they’re all shouting, counting down until midnight, but David kisses him on three, like he couldn’t wait.

It snows the day before David leaves, and they go for a walk around Patrick’s neighborhood for some space away from everyone. David refuses to wear a hat because of his hair and then spends most of the time complaining about his ears hurting because it’s so cold. He takes David’s hands and rubs them between his own because his boyfriend had also opted for _fingerless gloves_.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he sighs, and David looks away from him, a little bit twitchy. He’s been that way the past few days, and Patrick knows it’s nerves.

“Hey,” he says, tipping David’s chin up and waiting until their eyes meet. “I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere.”

David breathes out and nods, shaky, and pulls him in and kisses him. His lips are cold but his mouth is warm, and Patrick slips an arm around his waist and tries to memorize this moment for the months to come.

They do long distance. They talk on the phone before bed every night, even with the time difference. They fight sometimes, the frustration of missing each other bleeding through their words, but they’re both always quick to apologize and Patrick… well, there’s nothing he could think of that would really be worth losing David over.

They work it out so that David comes home for the longer breaks and Patrick flies out for the shorter ones. They fool around as much as they can given the circumstances—there’s always someone at Patrick’s house, and after the maid walks in on David blowing him at the Roses’, they decide to be more careful. Patrick is mortified at the mere _idea_ of renting a room somewhere, so it’s not until about a year later when he flies back to New York that they have the privacy they really want.

This year, it basically starts snowing the minute David picks him up from the airport. The city is beautiful in the snow, and David is gorgeous as he walks from the cab to his apartment, flakes catching on his eyelashes and his cheeks all rosy. Patrick feels a little bit like he was just punched in the gut, he looks so good.

“Looks like we might have to order in,” he says once they’re inside and his bags are all organized.

David turns his head to look at him from where he’s sitting in the bay window. He’s all curled up and smiling, and he’s wearing this fuzzy black sweater, the sleeves of which fall over his knuckles. “Gonna order me pizza, just like old times?” he asks, bumping his glasses up further on his face with one hand. He’s been getting headaches lately and the optometrist said they would help. They’re still enough of a novelty that something flip-flops in Patrick’s stomach when he sees them, sometimes.

Suddenly he wants David so much it hurts, so he stalks over and takes his hands, drawing him up to standing. “You know what the good thing about the city is?” he asks, and David raises an eyebrow. “If we want, we can order pizza at 2 AM.”

“Oh,” David says, a breathy, turned-on sound as Patrick leans in to kiss him, all heat and need as he walks David back to the bed.

The lights are off in the apartment but everything is so bright from the snow, and Patrick revels in getting to actually take his time undressing David, teasing him and drawing it out until David’s begging him. Then all of David’s gorgeous skin is spread out beneath him and he drops kisses everywhere he can and David is trembling, so desperate for him in a way that takes Patrick’s breath away, frankly.

“I want you so much,” David exhales as Patrick works a finger inside him, then two, then three. “Patrick, I—”

“I know, just give me—” Patrick tries, steadying on, because he’s a little bit nervous and this is everything; he wants this to be so, so good for David and he also never wants it to stop, the way David’s shaking and falling apart underneath him.

David catches his wrist, and Patrick stills. “If you tell me to wait right now—” he says, face so absolutely serious and decided that Patrick can’t help but cut him off with a laugh, slip his fingers out and lean up to kiss him.

“I think we’ve waited long enough,” he murmurs against David’s lips.

He pins David’s wrists to the mattress and fucks him slowly, tenderly; David gasping into his ear and letting out these small, wanting noises, and then Patrick adjusts the angle a little and he groans Patrick’s name. He keeps a measured pace until there are desperate tears leaking out of the corners of David’s eyes and all he can do is say _please_ , over and over again like a litany. He fucks David in earnest then and it’s everything he wanted, he’s wanted this for so long and it’s so fucking perfect: the way the light is falling on David’s skin and the sounds he’s making and his tongue in Patrick’s mouth, desperate and hot. They fit together so perfectly, and he thinks as he comes that he doesn’t want anyone else, not ever.

“I love you,” he murmurs later, when night has fallen around them and there’s a half-empty pizza box is on the floor. David is curled in his arms, skin to skin, lips brushing Patrick’s collarbone and sheets tangled around his waist.

David doesn’t say anything at first, but Patrick can feel his lips curl up, happy and soft. Patrick wants more of it. “I’ve loved you since I was fifteen years old.” And it’s true. He may not have known what the warm curl in his gut meant when he promised to marry David one random night in his parents house, but he does now.

David pulls away just enough so that Patrick can see his face. His eyes are bright. “If that’s the game we’re playing, I’ve got you beat,” he says, smirking before kissing Patrick, slow and sweet.

He says it back later, when they’re both mere minutes from falling asleep. Quiet enough that it’s like he thinks Patrick won’t hear, but he does, reaches an arm around David’s waist and pulls him closer, dropping a light kiss to his shoulder.

He and his parents go to David’s graduation and they’re the loudest ones when he walks across the stage, except for Mr. Rose shouting “Way to go, son!” David’s home in time for Patrick’s, and gives him flowers, and Patrick’s mom takes one thousand pictures of them together afterward. There’s one where David’s kissing his temple and Patrick’s face is all soft and unguarded. He wants to get it framed.

They talk about the future. David had dreamed of running a big, fancy gallery in the city, once, but he seems nervous to jump into something so big now. “I have this other idea,” he says instead, explaining a shop that would feature local artisans and have green plants hanging from the ceiling, and Patrick is mostly on board, but.

“I don’t want to stay here,” he admits. “I’ve been here my whole life and I just. Want something different.”

David takes his hand and nods, his face understanding and so much more relaxed than Patrick had thought it would be. “Yeah,” he says easily, taking Patrick’s hand. “That’s fine. We’ll go on an adventure together.”

It’s the same thing he used to say when they were seven or eight and playing make-believe. Patrick’s eyes sting and he smiles so hard it hurts, and David smiles back.

With some start-up money from David’s parents, they rent an old abandoned general store an hour away in a little town called Schitt’s Creek. It’s not that far from where they grew up, really, but it feels like a different planet in some ways. Not that it really manners—the locals are friendly and generous and fold them into the community immediately. Patrick’s kind of surprised at how well David transitions, and yes, there are moments of living in Schitt’s Creek that seem to truly throw him, but he gets Rose Apothecary on its feet and people love him for that, love the store and its products and Patrick is so, so proud of him.

They rent a little apartment together. It’s small but it’s what they can afford, it’s close to the store, and it’s theirs. Patrick is most excited that it has a little fireplace and runs his finger wistfully down the mantle on the initial tour, daydreaming about building a fire for them both to sit in front of on dark winter nights. He lets David do the lion’s share of the interior decorating, but is impressed how much he takes Patrick’s taste and opinions into account. “It’s _our_ place,” David says simply, shrugging when he tells him so.

Patrick’s parents come to visit, raving about the store and their apartment and their life here. David’s family does too, and while they’re slightly more baffled by the choices they’ve made, they are supportive and proud.

To put it simply, they carve themselves a life they love. A life that stretches far into the future and Patrick adores it, couldn’t be happier to wake up next to David every day or tell interested customers how they met, when they ask. David rolls his eyes whenever it happens, but there’s a quiet confidence to him now, too, something that Patrick didn’t see there even a few years ago. There’s the delight at having built a business themselves, sure, but there’s also a sort of trust there, in that expression. It’s so different than the look Patrick had become so accustomed to when they were fifteen, the one that said he didn’t think he deserved anything, that no one was ever going to love him in a way that was permanent. But David makes their bed every morning and Patrick washes their dishes every night, and they know the ins and outs of the other person’s routines and Patrick knows this is forever. He just does.

He decides to make it official on a Sunday in the spring. He’s picking at his guitar and David’s sitting at the other end of the couch, feet tucked under Patrick’s thighs as he scribbles in his notebook for the store. If Patrick had to guess, he would say it’s probably ideas for the summer series.

He lets the notes slowly wind themselves from random melodies into the one he’s been thinking of, soft at first but then stronger. He decidedly does not look at David as he starts to sing.

“I wanna make you smile, whenever you’re sad…”

Singing it, it hits him how much of this they’ve already done, and how absolutely amazing that is. How thoroughly unachievable any of it felt when they were fifteen and they both heard it.

When he’s done, he finally looks up at David only to see his eyes shining, and he can tell David’s thinking of that night too, and how much it really meant. He kicks at Patrick lightly, mouth puckered up like he doesn’t know what to do with his face.

“I just wanna state for the record that I do not get the remote control very often,” he says, voice teasing but also a little bit wobbly, and Patrick laughs, feeling his skin break out in goosebumps. He doesn’t know how he’s going to do this with David’s full attention on him like this.

“David?” he asks, and David just hums in response, eyes already back on his notebook, blinking fast like he doesn’t want Patrick to see him cry.

“I don’t want to wait until we’re thirty.”

David’s head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide and mouth tense. “What?”

So Patrick sets his guitar down and gets up, pulling the ring box out of his pocket as he does. He kneels on the ground in front of David and watches his eyes immediately fill with tears, his hands trembling on his notebook.

“I was thinking,” he starts, and he can hear his nerves in his voice but plows on, looking at David like he’s anchor. “Do you think we could negotiate the timing on our marriage pact? Maybe… move it up a little bit?” He gains confidence as David’s eyes start to spill over, a gorgeous, overcome grin spreading across his face. Patrick ducks his head a moment before looking back up at him, smiling himself. “I’m just—I’m getting kind of impatient to start growing old with you.”

David lets out this half-gasp, half-sob but he’s smiling so wide and looks so incredibly, incandescently happy that Patrick feels it too, like it’s going to burst out of his chest. “David Rose, will you marry me?”

David shakes his head frantically, flapping a hand in front of his face, unable to speak as he reaches out, and Patrick stands, moving over and kissing him breathless. David pulls away to look at him, after a moment, pressing their foreheads together, before his eyes go wide. “Fuck, I didn’t actually say yes!” He claps his hand over his mouth, a watery laugh escaping, and Patrick loves him so, so much.

“Oh my god, keeping me in suspense,” he teases, and David’s eyes shine.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” he says, his voice soft, and Patrick kisses him again. He can’t seem to stop.

Later, they call their families. Everyone is, of course, so overjoyed at the news.

“I knew this would happen, I always said. Didn’t I, John?” Moira trills over the phone, and they both hear his dad’s obedient agreement down the line. “From when you were just seven, David, and you completed that sweet little exercise, didn’t you?”

“Ohmi _god_ ,” Alexis squeals down the line, enough to make their ears ring. “I _completely_ forgot about that, David! That little homework you did about when you grew up—”

Patrick’s brow furrows. He doesn’t know what they’re talking about. They were in different classes when they were seven, but it sounds like he’s involved somehow, and how doesn’t he know about whatever this is? “Wait, what—”

“Okay thank you we have to go now, byeeee!” David says, grabbing the phone from Patrick and ending the call. Patrick just gapes at him. David’s redder than he’s ever seen, purposefully not looking at him.

“David?” he prompts.

“So I think next on our list is Stevie,” he says, a little too loudly, and Patrick laughs, shaking his head.

He texts Alexis, asking her to see if she can fill him in, because the look on David’s face is just too good to pass up. She texts back “👌🎉✨💖👬🐭👀” and Patrick isn’t sure, but he _thinks_ that’s a yes. He doesn’t hear from her again until they’re getting in bed later, and his phone dings with a picture. David’s in the bathroom, so he hurries to open it before he’s back, enlarging it quickly.

Patrick didn’t think the Roses were the type to save childhood classwork, but that’s what this appears to be. The top of the worksheet reads “When I Grow Up!” in bright, curly-cue lettering across the page, and underneath there’s a little box for a drawing and then some dotted lines for writing. The drawing is of two boys, one with a tornado of wavy black hair and the other with lighter hair, both of them smiling. They’re holding in hands in front of a big colorful house. The writing underneath is harder to make out with the misspellings and David’s wobbly print, but Patrick thinks it’s meant to read: “When I grow up I will be with my best friend Patrick. He is my favorite. We will live in a house together and we will be happy.”

“Oh my god, she’s _dead._ ”

Patrick turns around and David’s looking over his shoulder, then whipping around to look for his phone, jaw clenched. Patrick laughs, reaching out and catching his hand before he can go and murder his sister.

“Nooooo, no no no. Stop, c’mere,” he says, pulling him down into the bed. David goes, whining and trying to cover his face with his free hand even as he cuddles into Patrick’s side.

Patrick zooms in on the little self portrait, grinning, voice lit up with fondness and excitement. “Did you draw yourself in a wedding dress?”

“No,” David says quickly and decisively, nudging his chin over Patrick’s shoulder. “That was the dress my mother wore to the third season _Sunrise Bay_ wrap party? I was obsessed with modeling it at the time.”

“David,” he says, unable to keep the overwhelming fondness from taking over his voice as he looks at the picture. “I can’t believe your parents kept this. Do you think they would give it to us the next time we go home? We could get it framed.” He feels kind of misty, honestly.

David doesn’t say anything for a moment, just bumps his nose against Patrick’s shoulder gently, his voice quiet. “See? I told you I had you beat.” He turns Patrick’s head to kiss him, all tender trust and feeling, soft and sweet, and Patrick wants to ask him how he knew, so long ago, but he doesn’t.

 _We will live in a house together, and we will be happy,_ he thinks, and marvels at how David got it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to check out a (sort of) missing scene from this universe, I've written one [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20239450)!


	4. marry you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David plans a vow renewal for Bob and Gwen. Everything goes about as well as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to go for something a little more fun and light with this, and something I could see being an episode!
> 
> Title from [Bruno Mars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8lqF_huno40).

4\. 

 

“Okay,” David says, pressing his fingers to his temples and closing his eyes. It is 11:24 AM and he is done with this day. Bob stares at him, smiling obliviously, like he has no idea that David is about to lose his goddamn mind. “But you do know I’m not a wedding planner, right? Like. This is a _general store_.” 

“Oh!” Bob laughs, waving away the words. “David, c’mon, I’m not a total idiot.” 

David tries very hard to control his facial expression. _Keep it neutral, keep it neutral._

“But you planned Jocelyn’s baby shower! And the Christmas Party. With stuff from the store. Besides, Gwen and I aren’t getting _married_. We’re having a _vow renewal._ ” Bob kind of scoffs at him, like this is very basic information and David is an simpleton for not getting it. He grinds his teeth together and prays that Patrick gets back any minute now, before blood is shed. 

“Functionally? They’re the same thing.” 

Bob laughs again, skeptically, his eyes wide and condescending. “Okay, David.” 

David clenches his fists together and inhales slowly, gearing up to explain why this is the worst idea in the history of the universe. “Okay, Bob—”

The bell rings on the door, and Patrick is back from the cafe, carrying two takeaway cups and a paper bag. David hopes to god there is some kind of chocolate pastry something in that bag. Maybe his blood sugar is low, maybe that’s why he feels like screaming. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s been talking to Bob for all of twenty minutes (he’d shown up four minutes late for their meeting, which David definitely noticed), and it’s before coffee, and David hadn’t spent the night at Patrick’s last night so he’s possibly a little grumpy. 

“Hey,” Patrick says, shutting the door behind him with an easy smile. “Don’t let me interrupt, I’m just the caffeine delivery.” He smooths a hand over David’s back as he walks by, casually affectionate, and David feels the monster of rage in his chest subside slightly. He sets the coffee lightly beside David on the counter and settles himself at the register. David feels like whining. _Please come take over from me and deal with Bob, I swear to god, I’ll blow you in the stockroom, I’ll sweep the floors, I’ll do whatever you want!_

“No worries, we’re done anyway! He said okay!” Bob says lightly, standing up and stretching out his hand for Patrick to shake. David chokes on his first sip of coffee, coughing painfully, unable to catch his breath. 

“Oh!” Patrick says, eyes wide with surprise and a little bit of skepticism. He absently claps David’s back as if to help. “You settled on… pricing? Terms? Everything?”

Bob laughs, like this is a joke, like this is no big deal, and David is still choking on air. “Boy, you definitely are the business shark, aren’t you Patrick? Look, I gotta run, but we’ll get the details ironed out. See ya!” he says, doing that ridiculous walk-jog out of the door, and David flops his whole upper body down on the counter and allows himself to actually whine now. 

Patrick chuckles, all amused, which is unkind, really. He has no appreciation for David’s difficult morning. “So, I take it that went well.” 

 

//

 

“I didn’t say yes!” David says for the four-hundredth time that night when Patrick’s crawling into bed next to him. “You saw me at Jocelyn’s baby shower! Why would I sign up for that again, _willingly_ , on an even greater scale?” He massages hand cream meticulously into his knuckles. He knows he’s been going on about this literally all day, and he knows it’s annoying, but he just can’t make the whole conversation make sense in his head. 

“Why did he want you to do it again?” Patrick asks, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Does he know how expensive your taste is?”

David throws his hands up in the air. “I have no idea! He said Gwen loves the style of the store. I don’t think Gwen’s ever even been in our store!” 

Patrick smirks. “She definitely has. You just don’t remember because you’re not 100% clear on who she is.” 

David bites his lip, sighing, short and frustrated. “Okay, there’s no need for mockery—some of us inherited a bad memory and face-blindness from our mother. Look it up, it’s a real condition—”

“David,” Patrick says, leaning in close enough so that their noses brush together. David’s breath hitches in his chest the same way it always does when Patrick’s about to kiss him. His smile is a little bit smug, and David tries not to find that ridiculously attractive. “It’s just calling vendors and arranging deliveries. You do that every day.” 

“But for _Bob and Gwen,_ ” he pouts, inching closer. Patrick frowns mockingly, moving so he’s straddling David. 

“Yes, I know, it’s going to be very hard for you.” He’s just far enough away that David knows it’s still a game. He settles his hands on Patrick’s hips, pressing his lips together in an attempt not to break and be the one who smiles first. “Just think of it as a practice run for planning our wedding.”

He feels himself go pink and pleased, lips tilting up. He tips his head forward, resting his forehead on Patrick’s chest. “You can’t just casually say these things,” he mumbles into his t-shirt. “It’s bad for my nerves.” 

Patrick’s voice is amused as he scratches the short hairs at the back of David’s neck. “I’m sorry, when when did you become a character from a Jane Austen novel?” He gets two fingers under David’s chin so he can tip his face up and kiss him. David feels hazy when he pulls away, happy to be caught in the fuzzy happiness of this moment, both of them grinning at each other. 

“Our _wedding_ ,” Patrick whispers, just to fuck with him, and David groans and buries his face in Patrick’s chest again, wrapping his arms around his back. Patrick laughs, deep and full. 

 

//

 

Planning doesn’t go great. David manages to schedule another official meeting with Bob just once—and Gwen can’t attend because she has Jazzagals rehearsal, but it doesn’t matter anyway because it mostly consists of Bob saying, “Oh gee, I don’t know David, you’re the expert!” which is useless. David _knows_ he’s the expert, he doesn’t need Bob there to just repeat it for half an hour. 

So after that, he tries just sending him links to decor, to caterers, to flowers. All of Bob’s responses just come back “Sent from my iPhone” without any other commentary, so that’s useless. David even tries to track him down at the garage a couple times, to no avail. 

“It’s infuriating,” David tells him as he’s putting labels on the face cream one afternoon. “The garage is open, and he’s just like, _gone_. And he walks in half an hour later with a muffin from the cafe and he isn’t even _sorry_.” He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the hysteria in his voice.

Patrick still hasn’t said anything, and when David looks up at him, his jaw has dropped, but his eyes are dancing with amusement. “What?” David snaps. 

Patrick walks around the counter and comes to take David’s face in his hands, grinning. “David. Don’t you get it? This is why we can’t just close the store whenever you want to go on a double date with Ted and Alexis or take a long lunch at the cafe! I’m trying to keep you from becoming Bob!” He looks simultaneously horrified that David is just now working this out, but also delighted. 

David thinks a minute. “...Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?” David says, and Patrick rolls his eyes, exasperation winning out. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” he says, but he takes David by the hand and drags him to the stockroom to make out with him against the wall. David grins into it and lets him. 

 

//

 

So David eventually just starts making the decisions on his own and sends Bob the updates after the fact. He thinks it works out well; one time he gets a thumbs up emoji instead of just an automated message, which he guesses is progress. 

He has to admit, it’s not his least favorite thing he’s ever worked on. It’s nice, when the store is slow, to scroll through options on his phone and think about which would work best for him and Patrick. It makes him feel all warm inside, his chest tight. More than once he’s been browsing, his own wedding in mind, and Patrick has seen over his shoulder, saying “Bob stuff?” and David will nod a little too fast and say yes, feeling shy for no logical reason. 

Most things he’s picking for Bob and Gwen are his taste anyway, just maybe toned down a bit. He didn’t know what else to do, since they don’t want to give him even a hint of what to go on, and he’s the one who deals with the aesthetics of the store, so he’s trusting his gut. He books Herb Ertlinger’s winery for the venue, sources a tasteful white fabric arch and some string lights, and manages to get the same officiant from their original wedding forty years ago. He’s pretty proud of himself, honestly. It’s going to be really nice.

People seem really excited about the vow renewal, which surprises him. He goes to pick up lunch one day and has to take a call from a vendor about cake pops, which Twyla not-so-subtly eavesdrops on. 

“Was that about Bob and Gwen’s wedding?” she asks as she gives him two takeaway boxes. 

“Um, yes,” David says reluctantly, giving her his card. “But it’s a vow renewal.”

Twyla sighs dreamily. “It’s just been so long since we’ve had a wedding around here.” 

“Again, it’s a vow renewal, which is different? And Patrick and I are literally getting married,” he says, trying not to sound as mortally offended as he is. 

“Oh, right!” she says, flighty, and David stomps his way back to the store.

 

//

 

“You’ve done really well,” Patrick says to soothe him the night before the big day. David has flopped onto the bed in exhaustion and Patrick is kindly rubbing his back, without being asked, even. “It’ll all be over tomorrow, and then you don’t have to think about it ever again.”

David whines into the pillow. “I think I’m more invested in tomorrow than they are,” he mumbles, and Patrick laughs. 

Just like that, his phone buzzes. It’s Bob, and he groans as he accepts the call. 

“Hey, David! It looks like I had a couple missed calls from you,” he says, casual, and David is going to _murder_ him. He’s going to kill him the day before his vow renewal, and it’s going to be tragic for Gwen.

“Yes,” he says, voice tight. “I just wanted to make sure you were all set for tomorrow.” 

“Oh, yeah! We’re good to go, you know us! And hey, thank you for being so great about everything. You’re a champ.” 

He relaxes slightly at the well-earned praise. “Well, I think you’re really going to like it. Just get there on time.” 

“Yes, sir!” Bob chirps. “Though, you know, it’s not exactly like we could be late!” He’s laughing as he hangs up. 

David tries to figure that one out in his head, still holding the phone uselessly, staring at it like it might hold the answers. “Late is just arriving after the mutually agreed upon time, of course they could be late. Theoretically. But of course they _won’t_ be late, because if they do, I’m going to kill myself and then haunt them for eternity,” he says. 

“I think they just meant that you can’t really start without them,” Patrick says, but David’s head still feels fuzzy, and he lets out a dramatic sigh. 

“Promise me when we get married it’ll be easy,” he says, and Patrick huffs out a laugh as he moves to pet David’s hair. David nudges his head up into it so Patrick will know to keep going. 

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s likely to make it difficult,” he says, voice teasing, and David makes an indignant noise. 

Patrick laughs again, sliding down the bed so that he’s spooning David, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss behind David’s ear. “It’ll be easy. We could get married in front of the motel—” David shudders in his arms, “—and get Roland to officiate. As the mayor, I’m sure he’d do it for free.” 

David squirms around so they’re face to face, poking Patrick in the chest. “We’re breaking up. And you obviously don’t know anything about Roland.” 

Patrick just laughs into his mouth as he kisses him, and David is too tired to protest the point any longer.

 

//

 

David really shouldn’t be surprised that Bob and Gwen definitely are late. 

Everyone sitting waiting is getting antsy, and David doesn’t blame them. He’d texted Bob fifteen minutes before they were supposed to start, who had responded they were on their way. But no sign of them yet. David’s texted about a million more question marks since then and tried calling four times, but there hasn’t been a response. The crowd is getting antsy, and understandably so, and not even the lovely sight of Patrick all dressed up in a really nice suit can soothe him at this point. 

So, he ducks into the reception tent and resolves to just call over and over again until someone picks up, pacing. Patrick follows him, silent but supportive. 

David is practically shaking with rage when Bob picks up on the thirteenth call. “Where are you?” he hisses into the speaker. “We’ve all been waiting around here for both of you, and you texted me you were on your way an _hour_ ago, and—”

“Uh, yeah,” Bob says, slow like David is an idiot. “We were on our way and now we’re here. At the airport.” 

David freezes. “The _airport?_ ” Patrick’s eyes go wide next to him, and David has to shut his eyes to concentrate. 

“Remember?” Bob says, voice patronizing. “I told you last night, Gwen found really cheap tickets for Cabo? So we decided to do a destination vow renewal instead.” 

David takes a deep breath. He tries to channel his mother on _Sunrise Bay_ , that time she had to be so controlled to poison the lover who was sleeping with her arch nemesis slash clone, instead of slitting his throat with a letter opener like she really wanted. “No,” he says with tight restraint. “No, you did not tell me, your wedding planner, that you had decided to go to Cabo instead of attend the vow renewal we spent weeks planning. You did not even imply it or vaguely allude to it. This is brand new information.” 

Patrick has to clap his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. David shoots him a glare. 

On the other end of the line, Bob makes a skeptical and disbelieving sound. “Mmm, not to be particular, but you kind of took over the planning process there, David.” 

“Because _you wouldn’t—_ ” he says, too loudly, before cutting himself off and recentering himself. “Okay, you know what, let’s leave that for now. You know you don’t get refunds when you just don’t show up for the ceremony, right? You’re still going to have to pay for all this—” 

“Ah, David, I’m losing ya! We’re about to board. So we’ll figure it all out when we get back in a month! Have fun!” And just like that, the call disconnects. 

David is frozen for a minute, his mind and face blank. He doesn’t even know where to start, so instead his brain fixates on a minute but incorrect detail. “People don’t have destination vow renewals,” he says, tone neutral. “That’s not a thing.” 

Patrick steps up and cradles David’s face in his hands. “David.” 

“It’s not a thing, where did they even come up with that, is this some other kind of baby sprinkle bullshit I don’t know about—” 

That earns him an actual laugh from Patrick, which snaps him out of it slightly. Patrick is grinning at him like David is being funny, but David is not being funny. He is being very serious. “David,” he tries again, voice patient. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

“ _How?_ ” David asks, wiggling his face around expressively as much as he can when Patrick’s fingers are still brushing lightly over his cheekbones. “I have to go out there and tell people there won’t be a wedding, even though they’ve waited an _hour and a half_ , and there’s food that won’t get eaten and the flowers are all going to die for _nothing_ , and—” 

“Hey,” Patrick says, stopping him with a shy look, ducking his head for a moment, and now David is intrigued. He knows about this tell, he’s seen it on Patrick before. It’s the face he made before he asked if he could maybe try riding him, the same expression from when he’d suggested they go for a picnic. “What if… we didn’t do all that?”

“Mm,” David hums. “Running away is a pretty tempting option, I agree, but I don’t think it would be very good for our reputation as an event planner source—” 

“No,” Patrick says, his voice soft but firm. “I meant. What if we just. Got married instead.” 

David gapes at him for a moment, processing. 

“It’s just, you did all the planning and you picked things you like, and basically everyone in town is already here and excited about it, and. Why waste a wedding?” 

David chews his lip for a second. Patrick gives him a minute. He’s good at waiting him out when he can see the wheels turning in David’s head, and he only looks slightly anxious about David’s answer. God, he’s so lucky. David is so, so lucky. 

When he speaks his voice is small. “What about your parents?” 

Patrick’s lips break out into a tentative smile. “I can call them. They can get here. Is that—is that all you’re worried about?”

David nods. “I just, I wouldn’t want you to have this without them—” 

“I’ll call them right now,” Patrick says, and his eyes are bright and shining with tears, and he lets out this watery, excited laugh that David wants to wrap up and keep in his chest forever. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” 

He lets out a breath, allowing himself to relax into a smile for the first time today, it feels like. “Yes.” 

Patrick kisses David’s nose, each of his cheeks, and then his lips. He pulls back and grins at him for a second, like he can’t believe David is real, and then steps back to pull his phone out of his jacket pocket. “Hey, mom? Are you busy?”

 

//

 

Patrick’s dad must break every speeding law between Schitt’s Creek and Hillsdale to get here in an hour flat, but they make it happen. He and Marcy tumble out of the car, going straight to their son with open arms and wrapping him up. David hangs back slightly, watching with a happy grin until Clint waves him over to join the embrace. 

“This is so exciting!” Marcy says, her eyes already filled with tears. “Oh, you lovely boys, I can’t believe you’re doing this today! I’m so excited—your married lives start _tomorrow!_ ” and an excited tremor sparkles through David at the words. 

Patrick kisses the top of her head. “We’re excited too, Mom, but people have been waiting and I think we kind of need to get this show on the road—” 

“Oh yes, of course!” she says, grabbing Clint’s hand and pulling him toward the crowd. David’s pretty sure the rest of the guests have eaten all the hor d'oeuvres at this point, but it’s fine, since the whole event has technically bled into the reception time at this point. 

Patrick turns to him, giving his hand a squeeze with a wide grin. “We ready to do this?” he asks, the same way David had the first day they opened the store, and it hits David like a ton of bricks. He nods. 

“Ready.” 

 

//

 

The winery actually looks really beautiful. Well, the landscape itself was already beautiful, obviously, but it doesn’t look half bad with the decor and flowers he’d picked. These are the things he tries to concentrate on, because otherwise he’s going to be thinking about how he’s _marrying Patrick_ and the whole town is going to see him cry. Dad started crying the second things started, he’s pretty sure, and Patrick’s mom is sniffling and Alexis is beaming and Patrick… Patrick is looking at him like he’s the whole world. 

It doesn’t go off without a hitch. The officiant accidentally reads Bob and Gwen’s names, and then they realize he doesn’t actually know their names, so Patrick has to lean in and whisper them to him. Which isn’t super effective because he’s like, one hundred, so he says Patrick’s name and then forgets David’s, and the crowd is giggling slightly. He also keeps saying “man and wife” and then “Oh! Excuse me! Man and man,” which even David has to admit is pretty funny. He also gets three sentences into the long section he had planned about their stunning, forty year marriage, before realizing again, that is also incorrect. 

And it’s funny, he thought he would have cared about all that stuff. But everything he spent weeks obsessing over and planning kind of falls away as he’s holding Patrick’s hands and saying “I do.” As he sees Patrick’s face go flushed and tearful when the officiant pronounces them husbands. As he draws David in to kiss him with all that he is, sweet and bright and full of feeling. 

Everyone gorges on cake pops and punch or booze and dances to the terrible music choices Bob and Gwen had picked (the _only_ involvement they were interested in, and all of it terrible—David is subjected to “Hips Don’t Lie” at his own reception, gag him with a wooden spoon, and Stevie won’t even let him escape to sit down during Bruno Mars, which is truly a hate crime). Still, slow dancing with Patrick to Elvis is… less horrifying than expected. 

“You know,” he murmurs, close and secret even though literally everyone they really care about is watching them. “After this, I don’t actually think I would have minded the motel with Roland officiating.”

“Mm,” Patrick says, teasingly interested, head tilted to the side. “Good to know, I’ll just jot that idea down for _our_ vow renewal—” 

David sighs, put upon, but pulls him in for a kiss, closing his eyes. 

_This is the only part that matters,_ he thinks to himself. At the end of the day, Patrick is the only wedding necessity.


	5. wasteland, baby!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU in which David and Patrick find each other after the world ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be intimidated by the description, this is basically the softest apocafic that has ever been written and I ~handwave~ all the details, basically. 
> 
> Y'all thought you were getting out of here without [another Hozier title](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4rKN_qW5DU)? THINK AGAIN, BITCH!

5.

 

 

David never thought he would get married, in his life before the virus.

The spectacle of it all was appealing, yes. A whole day where you were the center of attention and everyone talked a lot about how much you deserve love? He could get into that, honestly.

But then half the population had been wiped out and David had learned that spectacle counted for jack shit.

The only reason they’d survived was because Dad owned land in the middle of bum fuck nowhere, and he’d insisted on getting them there as soon as possible. Mom thought he was being dramatic, but they know now they would have died in New York.

The virus had hit here too, of course, but Schitt’s Creek was smart, enough to crawl through the worst of it and create a small colony. They were resourceful too, skilled in ways David never thought he would be.

The first full day he’d been there, he’d been paired with Patrick for their chore rotations, and it was laundry.

“So how do you… do it?” David had asked, wincing.

Patrick had smirked at him, not unkindly, as he filled a second bucket to the brim with water, steam rising and curling around him. “Think of it this way—in the apocalypse, everything is hand wash only.”

David nodded, saying nothing, watching as Patrick took the bar of soap and worked it into a thick lather. He had really nice hands, even if they went splotchy and red from how hot the water was, and were cut and rough from the work here. Still, nice. Large and… capable.

Patrick’s mouth tipped up, like he was trying very hard not to look smug or grin. “David. Didn’t you have hand-wash clothes in your life before?”

“Mhm,” David said, taking the bar of soap when Patrick offers it, thrilling a little stupidly when their fingers brush. “I did, they went in a separate laundry basket and then when they came back, they were hand-washed.”

And something amazing had happened: Patrick had let out a laugh, kind of startled but lovely and bright, like he found David amusing instead of pathetically sad or useless. Then he’d shown David how to wash clothes, methodically and carefully, something tender and small flickering over his face when he looked at him.

They’d shot nervous, stolen glances at each other for weeks, which is not actually a long time but felt like it, because David wasn’t used to waiting for things. It had even annoyed Alexis, who told him on more than one occasion to stop eyefucking and make a move.

And he had, finally. It was a night when spring was just starting to twist into summer, sitting on a blanket in the grass under the stars. David had been fiddling his shirtsleeves over his knuckles, because it wasn’t quite warm enough out here yet and his teeth were chattering slightly, but inside was too loud and there were too many people around.

People don’t know this about David, but he knows quite a bit about the night sky. He picked it up in the city, used to go to psychics and tarot readings and learned the stars as another way to tell himself that it all would be okay, someday. He never would have guessed it would be after the world ended, but hey. Astrology is tricky like that.

Anyway, Patrick couldn’t pick out a constellation to save his life, so David was pointing up and trying to show him but he could tell Patrick was just nodding along, saying “Uh huh” in all the right places to get David to keep talking.

“You probably can’t see it from that angle,” he said softly, mouth twisted up so he wasn’t tempted to grin like he wanted to. “Here, you have to—” and leaned into Patrick’s space, could feel the heat radiating from his body, and suddenly felt short of breath.

Patrick didn’t even look up at all that time, eyes fixed on David, and it was nearly too much to take. David turned his head so they were looking at each other for a moment, nearly nose to nose, and there was something so honest and yearning in Patrick’s eyes that all David could do was lean in and kiss him, a gentle hand on the back of his neck. Patrick kissed him back, eyes fluttering closed and his mouth yielding under David’s, warm and wet and enough to make David’s goosebumps crop up again, this time for much better reasons. David had pulled away, eventually, knowing his expression was slightly dazed, and Patrick had looked at him and his face had opened into a smile, easy, and that was it.

That was it.

There aren’t any late nights anymore, since the only electricity they get is from the generator, which is only used for very specific tasks and purposes. Everyone just goes to bed when it gets dark, gets up with the sun. All the residents had moved in to different houses in the center of town for safety reasons—Patrick lives with Ray, David and his family live next to Jocelyn and Roland, in a house that belonged to a family who all lost to the virus. But the next night, he and Patrick make a point to walk out of the way when evening starts to fall, all the way down to the abandoned motel. It’s actually not in bad shape, other than the way all motels are kind of shabby; it’s too far removed from the center of the colony, but once Ted breaks the horses it might be a real option for people. This is the way David’s life is now, this is what he thinks about.

Twilight is streaming in through the crack in the curtains as David sits on the edge of the bed, and the light is hitting Patrick perfectly when he moves forward, hungry, knees bracketing David’s thighs and hands on his face as he kisses him. David’s hands are on his broad, strong back, and Patrick is gasping into his mouth, desperate, and it’s like they can’t move fast enough. He wants to go slow, make Patrick shiver and shake and beg for him, but they both just _want_ too much, he thinks.

God, he’s missed being touched. No one has touched him, really, since they left New York and it’s made so much better by the fact that it’s Patrick, who he’s been unable to stop thinking about since that first fucking day. It’s Patrick’s hands fumbling him out of his clothes, Patrick’s fingers lighting him up. Patrick inside him and Patrick’s lips on his neck and Patrick all over him, tangled together so much that it makes David slightly dizzy.

They’re panting, after, motel sheets twisted around them as they lay on their backs, silent but for their breath.

“David,” Patrick murmurs finally, and David squeezes his eyes shut tight.

“Mm?”

Patrick tugs on his hand, threading their fingers together, and David’s heart kicks up again at the touch. He opens his eyes and Patrick is there, looking at him like he’s something amazing, which is just… so incredible. David thinks that maybe no one’s ever looked at him like that in his life, and the fact that they would _now_ , when the world is a wasteland and every day is a new kind of lesson and terror, is something he never could have guessed.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Patrick says, face so open and honest that a lump forms in David’s throat. “I’m glad you made it here.”

“Me too,” he breathes, unable to help the way his voice sounds, and if there are tears forming in the corners of his eyes, at least it’s too dark to see them.

Life goes on. They harvest the crops in the fall. Old Ms. Donaghue’s children find her from another colony, and she leaves with them. Patrick moves into her little two bedroom house, and soon David is spending more nights there than not. Winter comes and everyone makes it through, though they do learn that cold in the apocalypse is an entirely different experience than before. They’re both pleased the house has a fireplace. The colony has a small Christmas, everyone exchanging little, mostly handmade gifts. David gives Patrick a slightly misshapen scarf—Twyla’s been teaching him how to knit in secret—and Patrick gives him a candle he’d worked on with a woman named Linda, who makes all the soap and candles for the settlement’s stock. And that would be enough, but David goes home with him that night and Patrick says, “There’s something else I wanted to give you. Outside of the, um. Whole gift exchange, with everyone.”

David is flushing already, because he’s never been good at accepting gifts, and the one on one attention might actually break him in this scenario. “Oh, you didn’t have to—”

But Patrick’s pulling something out of a box, and David doesn’t recognize it at first but… it’s a Polaroid camera, one of those fake-retro ones that had been big with hipster teens before the virus hit. “I found it when we were scavenging in Elm Valley a few weeks ago,” he says, carefully loading it with film, and David clears his throat hurriedly. This is too much for him, much too much, and a camera should be used for like, documenting the whole group or something, it feels selfish to keep to himself, but… he realizes as he watches Patrick’s fingers fiddling with the settings that he and Patrick don’t have a single picture together. In his old life, he was constantly taking pictures. He had a folder on his phone full of furtive, secret ones he’d taken of people he was seeing, a way to remind himself _they really liked me, once_. And the fact that he might never have gotten a picture of Patrick, the most important person, makes him feel so choked up.

He hands it to David and their fingers brush in the process. “It just seemed like you,” he admits, open and honest, and David can’t look at him, feels himself blushing hot and overcome.

He raises the lens and aims it right at Patrick, who immediately rolls his eyes fondly, about to protest, but David snaps the shot before he can get the words out.

“I didn’t get it to become a model,” he complains, flushing himself now, and David grins as the photo slides out of the camera.

“C’mere,” he says, grabbing for Patrick’s hand and pulling him in. He kisses him slow and sweet, and then Patrick’s nose is pressed against his cheek and he’s grinning, and David lifts the camera and snaps another.

It comes out blurry, of course. Alexis would have done better, she’s had more practice with selfies. But they’re both clearly happy, and this is proof, and that’s all he wanted in the first place.

Spring thaws them out and David says “I love you,” on a random afternoon. They’re paired for chores together, something that doesn’t happen all that much anymore because everyone knows they’ll just distract each other. David had said something about hating being on cleaning rotation, and Patrick had laughed, and it had reminded David so much of that first fucking day, but this time Patrick follows it up with, “That’s just because you don’t think anyone else does a good enough job in comparison,” and David is frozen by the way Patrick _knows_ him now, because that’s exactly why. How can their dynamic be the same, to be so charmed and thrilled by each other but also know each other so much better now? And it just comes out, unbidden.

Patrick turns to look at him slowly, all tender and touched like he can’t believe David just said it. David kind of can’t believe it either. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s said that to someone.

“You can’t charm your way out of cleaning rotation,” he says instead, because he’s always been big on sass, but his voice is kind of rough and his eyes are bright, and he steps forward and kisses David like it means everything, whispering the words back against his lips.

Summer is nice. The days get longer and Patrick switches from sweaters to tshirts, and David is happy to appreciate the muscles he didn’t have last year, thankful for daylight hours composed of carrying heavy buckets full of water or chopping firewood. Everyone is giddy to have made it through the year, lighting fires behind the barn and hanging out later than they normally might. Patrick strums his guitar and people call out requests; children chase fireflies, their high pitched screams puncturing the night sky, and David thinks a lot about how they won’t remember before. This is all they’ve ever known, and they’ll be okay. They’ll remember closeness and happiness and family, not what they’re missing. He thinks of the time before less and less, himself.

Still, the season goes by fast. It isn’t long before they can feel autumn coming in the air. David doesn’t really count the days anymore, but Twyla does, and one night she is convinced there will be a meteor shower. So he and Patrick end up sitting out on his porch, waiting.

“What’s that one called again?” Patrick asks, pointing up, and David sighs, smiling but trying not to show it.

“It’s Scorpius. See, you can see Antares there, in the middle? It’s the heart of the scorpion.”

Patrick hums in understanding, even though David knows he won’t remember. Patrick doesn’t really care about this stuff, he knows. He just likes to hear David talk about it, always has. “Which one is your favorite?” he asks.

David’s brow furrows for a minute, thinking. “I don’t know. Maybe Andromeda? But she comes out in the fall. She’ll be here soon.”

He draws his arms across himself, shivering a little. Patrick scoots closer so that their knees are pressed together, rubbing a hand quickly across David’s back in an attempt to warm him, still quiet as David explains. “Her father chained her to a rock in the middle of the ocean as a sacrifice to some monster to save the family’s kingdom? And Perseus saved her with a diamond sword.”

He can see Patrick’s grin out of the corner of his eye, even with his chin tipped up to the sky. “Couldn’t be just any old sword, huh?”

“Um. After that they got married and had tons of kids. Do you think she should have done all that for anything _less_ than a diamond sword?”

“Ah,” Patrick says, and his voice sounds kind of shaky for a minute in a way that doesn’t make sense.

David turns to look at him, and he’s flushed, biting his lip hard and nodding, like he’s trying to work himself up to something.

“Well, I don’t have a diamond sword, but I’d really like to marry you.”

David nearly chokes. “Wha—what?” he asks, half a laugh, half a gasp.

Patrick turns to look at him, serious, and David’s eyes fill with tears almost immediately. Because Patrick’s face is soft and sweet and hopeful and David can’t believe this is happening, feels it in his toes and his chest and he’s shaking harder, now, and it’s all Patrick’s fault.

“I don’t have a ring or anything, um. And I know it seems silly, now, when everything is—you know— _this_ , and it’s the end of the world and who knows how long it will all last, but I do know I want to spend every day of it with you.” His voice is still quavering, his hand finding its way to David’s and squeezing his hand hard.

“Are you sure?” David can’t help but ask, words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“David, I—I’ve never been surer of _anything_ ,” he says, fervent, and David is nodding before he finishes his sentence.

“Yes, yes, I’ll marry you,” he says, voice quiet and overcome, and Patrick laughs, relief washing over every feature on his face as he leans in, strong but gentle hand on the back of David’s neck as he pulls him in for a kiss.

They marry in the spring, on the first truly warm day of the new year. They could have done it earlier, really, because there’s no reason to wait. There’s no venues to book or schedules to accommodate, no licenses to apply for or paperwork to fill out, even. Everyone they love is already here. But spring seems like the perfect season for celebration after a long, demanding winter. Spring is full of hope, and so is Patrick, and David wants them both for as long as the universe will allow.

David could never have told himself in his old life that he would get married in a barn, but he does. There’s candles and mismatched streamers and everyone wears the best of what they have. He and Patrick slip hand-carved wooden rings on each other’s fingers that Mutt made, and feed each other lopsided cake Jocelyn baked on a camp stove for the occasion. Stevie has a record player and everyone dances, drinks Roland’s moonshine, and David doesn’t let go of Patrick’s hand the whole night. It is a messy, full, and perfect affair. It means nothing and yet, it means everything.

“I never used to think I would get married, before,” he admits as they walk back to their house afterward. David had quietly moved in officially after Patrick’s proposal, and there’s kind of nothing he loves more than having a place of his own with someone. It’s another thing he didn’t expect. In his old life he wouldn’t have even been able to picture that—he lived with his family and then he lived alone, and the idea of liking someone enough to spend every night and every morning with them made him want to scratch his own skin off.

Patrick looks at him, slightly surprised. “Really? I would have thought you’d have some, like. I don’t know, huge high society wedding, and all your celebrity friends would come, and the pictures would be in the _People_ magazine at the grocery store checkout—”

“Oh my god, gross—”

“And then a huge reception and a honeymoon suite in the, uh, Plaza Hotel or whatever, and—”

David pulls him in, cutting him off with a soft, slow kiss in the middle of the street. He pulls away but Patrick’s still looking at him so close, so intimate, and David doesn’t know if it’s that look or Roland’s moonshine that makes him feel like everything is spinning.

He shakes his head, insistent. “I didn’t, I didn’t understand—I always just thought of it as another party, back then,” he says, coloring at how silly the words sound coming out of his mouth. “I didn’t think I needed it, it didn’t mean anything. I never… I never wanted it until you.”

Patrick brushes a thumb over David’s cheek, so gentle and lovely, looking at him so tenderly that David’s heart threatens to overflow, it’s already so full from the day they’ve had. “Me either,” he murmurs, his other hand finding David’s and thumbing over the ring on his finger.

And it’s crazy, how much it means. They just said some words in a barn; there’s no government to report it to and no tax break. There wasn’t a priest or a justice of the peace to be found. But Patrick walks him to their home, and they’re going to fall asleep in their bed, tonight and every night they have left for however long they have left. And David thinks maybe that’s all it’s ever really meant: two people, tangling their lives together, in the face of an uncertain and unknowable future.

Patrick squeezes his hand, and David knows there isn’t anyone else we would rather face that with.


	6. let's get married

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [Mitski's cover of Bleachers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5zuvs8EZDY). Special appearance by [The Beach Boys.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EkPy18xW1j8)

+1. 

 

They’re sitting at the Cafe Tropicale and Patrick has a checklist. Of course he does, David doesn’t know why he’s surprised, but he does find it really goddamn cute. 

“Where did you find that?” he asks while Patrick pulls papers out of his little folder and gets organized. He’s trying not to smile really, really hard. 

“Huh? Oh, there was one online that I used as a base but then I added some things and customized it,” he says, still distracted. 

“Mm, hot,” David says, teasing, though in reality he does find it kind of hot. Patrick shoots him a lopsided grin like he knows. 

He finally locates a pen and claps his hands on the table. “Okay. First of all. Budget.” 

David groans, which only makes Patrick laugh. He flops down onto the table dramatically. “This is starting to feel a lot like work, suddenly.” 

“Well, planning a wedding is going to be work, David.” 

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Stop. Stop stop stop. Okay. How about I just trust you to handle the budget stuff if I promise to abide by your guidelines? I want to work on the fun stuff.” 

Patrick looks slightly skeptical of this deal. “If you _promise_.” 

“Why do you not trust me? You’re literally marrying me and you don’t trust me,” David squawks, faux-offended. 

Patrick turns his attention back to the checklist. David watches him put a careful star next to budget so he can be sure to go back and look at it later. Ugh, he loves him. He loves his little organized lamb of a fiance. “I trust you, I just don’t trust your taste for expensive things.” He moves along before David has time to protest. “Okay, some easy ones. Band or DJ?” 

David scowls. “Band. Obviously.” 

He makes a note. “Inside or outside?”

“Um, you’ve met me.” 

“Seating chart or open seating?”

“A seating chart sounds like work, but if my mom’s not far enough away from Roland we could end up losing someone.” 

“Kids?”

David freezes as his heart drops out of his chest. _Fuck._

Patrick looks up, noticing the pause. A smile flickers over his face at David’s panic, which seems kind of like a strange reaction. “David. Kids at the wedding?”

“Oh,” he exhales. “Sorry, I thought you meant—” 

He places his hand gently over David’s. “I know where your mind went. I just think… A lot has changed in my life lately? And I’m not really ready to think about that yet. But—if or when it comes to that, I know we’ll figure it out together.” 

David lets out a long breath, relief flowing through him to be on the same page. He didn’t ever think he would want kids, but he didn’t ever think he would want to get married either. He’s not sure anymore; he’s seen Patrick hold Roland Jr. and felt kind of… fuzzy inside, watching Patrick make silly faces for him and coo. It’s not something he’s really processed either. 

He turns his hand over so he can lace their fingers together, lips curling up before he can stop it. “I think that’s fine,” he says, voice softer than he meant it to be. Patrick gives his hand a squeeze. “And kids are… fine. For the wedding.” He _almost_ gets it out without wincing. 

He earns a small, soft smile for his efforts before Patrick’s back to the task at hand. “Standard vows or write our own?”

David takes a moment to try and imagine standing at the altar, listening to Patrick talk about his earnest, genuine feelings for David in his own words, in a front of a room full of everyone they know. He sees himself turning to the crowd and hissing “This isn’t any of your _business!_ ” He can’t even form a mental picture of reciting his _own_ vows and feelings in front of the whole town. No thanks. 

“Um, maybe we can… pick some things to say together?” he tries. He’s not exactly a wedding expert, but that feels like a good option, right?

Patrick’s giving him this look that makes David feel warm, like he’s charmed and moved all at once and can’t keep it off his features. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.” 

David draws his hand away to cover his face with his hands. He can only handle being looked at like that for so long. “Where are the _fun_ ones? When do I get to pick colors and aesthetics and themes?” 

Patrick’s face goes teasing as he consults the list. “Just 60 more items to go first!” 

 

// 

 

They get to it all eventually. David creates five different Pinterest boards and sources all his best event connections for the occasion. Stevie tells him to stop going on about it, his mother tunes him out, Alexis gets bored after three minutes, and even his dad hints it might be a little much. 

But David is genuinely surprised and excited by how into the planning process Patrick is. He’s always down to give his opinion when David shoves a picture of a flower arrangement or an invitation sample in his face, and his response is only teasing about 25% of the time. He has a little binder full of wedding things with color-coded tabs that contains multiple spreadsheets. David doesn’t quite understand Patrick’s system of note taking, so he can’t always make out what things mean when he peeks inside, but just the fact that the binder exists makes his chest feel kind of tight.

They go to see Patrick’s parents one weekend and both of them are similarly excited, asking all kinds of questions that he and Patrick interrupt each other to answer. Marcy pulls him aside at one point and tells him how good it is to see Patrick like this. “I almost forget he was engaged before, sometimes,” she says guiltily, cheeks going a little bit red with embarrassment. “With Rachel, whenever we asked about the venue or the guest list or—anything really—he’d sigh and go all quiet and change the subject. But oh, he’s over the moon with you, David. He can’t wait to marry you.” 

She pats his hand and David tries really, really hard to swallow down his feelings about all of that. He is determined not to cry in front of Patrick’s mom. 

They stay in what had once been Patrick’s bedroom but has now been redone as a guest room. There are still little hints of him, though: the paint faded where he once hung a poster, a scuff on the door where he used to bounce a baseball. “I hear,” David says as he gets into bed that night, “that you’re really excited to be marrying me.” 

Patrick shoots him a quizzical look from where he’s brushing his teeth in the adjoining bathroom. He’s using David’s fancy toothpaste, but David has decided not to mind for efficient packing travel reasons. “Who gave you that impression?” he asks after spitting into the sink, quirking an eyebrow like David just said something ridiculous. 

“Your mother,” David says, smirking slightly. He feels stupidly, overwhelmingly affectionate to be here, in the room Patrick grew up in. He doesn’t know how to articulate the feeling, exactly, other than to say he’s really fucking happy he gets to be a part of Patrick’s life. Which sounds so simplistic and trite and _horrible;_ David can’t say that out loud. 

“Huh,” Patrick says, frowning a little as he comes over to the other side of the bed, rearranging the pillows and drawing back the sheets. “Well, not to start rumors, but _I_ hear she’s not to be trusted.” 

“Mhm,” David allows, scooting himself under Patrick’s arm the second he can. All the feeling he’s holding in his chest is too much, something has to come out. “Did you have a twin bed in here, growing up?”

“Yes, not all of us grew up in California kings or Park Avenue apartments, David,” he says, amusement lighting up his voice as he presses a kiss into David’s hair. 

“Would you have made out with me in your twin bed?” David asks, mostly going for teasing, but the undercurrent of flirting there is real. He tips his head up to see Patrick’s face. He’s gone a little bit blushy, wearing one of his most adorable, overwhelmed smiles, and David wants to push it further. “We could have gotten all handsy, practically on top of each other, trying to be quiet so your parents don’t hear downstairs, but we’d get too enthusiastic and one of us would end up falling out onto the floor.”

“David,” Patrick says, and his voice has gone a little breathless, somewhere between laughter and being turned on. Honestly, that’s the sweet spot where David would like to live.

“We could be high school sweethearts,” he says, and then wonders if he shouldn’t have. Patrick already had a high school sweetheart, that was probably a dumb thing to say. Just because—just because David never had one doesn’t mean this is a cute fantasy to be having. 

“Mm,” Patrick hums, arm tightening around him. “Would you have thrown little rocks at my window in the middle of the night to get me to come out and see you? Then you could climb up and sneak in?” 

“I’m not great at climbing? Or heights, as you know,” David admits, putting on his negotiation voice. “However. I would be open to you doing that for me.”

“Well, I don’t know how that would be possible in a Park Avenue apartment, I’m not Spider-Man,” Patrick says, tone serious in the way it is when he’s definitely not serious. He shifts so they’re facing each other, warm hand on the back of David’s neck as he leans in and kisses him, something hot and possessive about it. God, David wants this so much, wants to make out in Patrick’s parents house and bite each other’s lips to stay silent and come too fast. 

“I am,” Patrick says when he pulls away, when David is all intoxicated from touch and lips and Patrick’s thigh between his own. 

“What?” David asks, dazed and slightly out of breath. 

“Really excited to be marrying you,” Patrick replies, voice low, and David’s stomach does somersaults. 

They set off back home on Sunday afternoon, exchanging hugs with Patrick’s parents in the driveway. “It’s hard to believe the next time we see you, it’ll be the wedding!” his dad says as he claps David on the back. 

“Oh!” Marcy says, startling a bit. “Just a minute, stay right here, I forgot something.” She runs back inside while Patrick and his dad shrug at each other. She’s out again in a flash, and as she approaches they can see she’s holding something small in her hand, shaking her head and looking flustered. 

“I feel so silly, I don’t even know if it matters, but,” she says, apologetic. “Last time I was going to offer Rachel my pearls, and… anyway, these are the cufflinks your father wore to our wedding, if either of you want them for your something old.” 

Patrick’s face goes soft and surprised, clearly moved as he takes the delicate silver jewelry carefully from her hands. “Mom,” he says, voice thick. 

Clint chuckles, arm going amiably around his wife. “I can’t believe we almost forgot them after I spent most of last weekend looking for them in the attic.” He rubs her arm reassuringly, and David feels a rush of affection for them both. 

Patrick swallows hard, looking at them for a long second before folding them into his hand. “Of course I’d love to wear them, thank you,” he says, hugging them both again before they pile into the car. 

He’s a little bit teary the first part of the drive, so David chews his lip and stays quiet for a bit. “It’s really nice of them,” he says eventually, and Patrick shakes his head, clears his throat. 

“I just—” he breaks off with a wet laugh before recovering. “I don’t know, the fact that they thought about, like. How they could still make it work.” He sniffles, letting out a shaky breath afterwards. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional about this.” 

David smiles, small and fragile. “It shows how much they love you. How much they accept you.” 

Patrick exhales again, heavy. “Yeah. Yeah.” He doesn’t seem ready to talk about it any more yet, and that’s fine. David just twists his mouth to the side and reaches over to squeeze Patrick’s knee, quick and heartfelt. Patrick catches his hand before he can pull away completely, lifting David’s hand to drop a light kiss to his wrist. David feels something jump inside him, going touched and tender. He has to turn and look out the window to keep himself from feeling too much.

“So I hope you factored this into your plans,” Patrick says, sounding a little bit more like his normal self now.

David spins his head around. “What do you mean?”

The sun is shining on him and Patrick’s smile is crooked and David is so in love. “You know. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. We’ve got one.” He looks at David as if to prompt him, and David rolls his eyes, even as he’s unable to fight his smile. 

 

// 

 

Despite what Patrick says, David doesn’t really think too hard about finding the rest of the pieces to that particular puzzle. He likes it as an idea: bringing as much luck as you can into a new marriage, but he also feels a little bit like they don’t need luck. It’s silly—surely every couple feels that way, but part of him thinks that if it’s meant to be, they’ll fall together naturally. 

Things get more stressful the closer they get to the wedding, and despite their earlier annoyance, his family help out in their own ways. His dad is constantly checking in, offering to do odd tasks here and there or call so-and-so to follow up. Alexis comes in clutch when their original photographer falls through, coming up with a whole PowerPoint to pitch this guy from Elmdale, complete with diverse examples from his Instagram feed. His mom uses her most threatening tricks to get the last stragglers to RSVP. Even Stevie puts on her supportive best friend face to listen to him whine and worry. One afternoon he actually falls asleep sitting on the couch by the front desk, and she doesn’t even wake him up, pretending not to notice instead. 

But the sweetest thing they do by far is the night before the wedding. 

“No, you _cannot_ stay at Patrick’s, David!” Alexis had protested that morning. “Um, I told Sophia Bush not to see Chad Michael Murray on their wedding night and she didn’t listen. You know what that got them? _Five months_ , David.” 

David groans into his hands. “Thank you for implying that the success of my whole marriage is dependent on some dumb, misogynist tradition, Alexis.” 

She shakes her head. “Whatever. You may be willing to tempt fate, but I’m not.” 

So he calls Patrick and explains the situation, who is predictably unhelpful. “They’re basically holding me hostage.” 

“Wow, sounds terrible,” he says, in a voice like he’s not really paying attention. 

David pouts. He always wants more of Patrick’s attention. All of it, if possible. “So you’re not going to come rescue me and whisk me away? Maybe I should call this whole thing off. I could run away with Ted again.” 

“Maybe you should,” Patrick replies, his voice more engaged and teasing now. “I hear he has really good luck with honeymoon packages.” 

“Okay, this is actually the part where you tell me how much I mean to you and how empty your life would be without me? You’re messing up your lines.” 

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to script me,” Patrick says, and David listens. It sounds like he’s closing up the store and walking; David can hear him double checking the door even after he locked it, feels giddy inside being able to recognize that small part of his routine.

“When did we decide that?”

“Mm, first day we were dating, I thought. When you wanted me to call you ‘nice.’”

David exhales for a second, thinking about it. “That was… that feels like a really long time ago. Compared to now.” 

He can hear the smile in Patrick’s voice. “I know,” he says, even though it really wasn’t, when you do the math. But the sound is so warm and pleased that David wishes stupidly he could see him right now. The last time they didn’t spend the night together was a few months ago, when Patrick was away at a tax seminar for a weekend. David had tossed and turned all night at the motel. Fuck, he doesn’t want undereye bags in his wedding pictures, he’ll have to remember to steal some of Alexis’ eye masks.

“What are you thinking about?” Patrick asks, jerking him back to reality. David will never stop marvelling at having a partner who just _says_ those things, who actually wants to know. 

“That I’m going to sleep like shit tonight,” he answers, words out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

Patrick’s quiet for a moment, that glowing, happy kind of quiet that happens to him when David says something that gives away too much. “Me too,” he murmurs back. “I’ll miss you.”

David squirms, kicking his feet a little under the covers of his bed. Patrick is so earnest, he can’t handle it. He tries to think of a joke. 

“Maybe I’ll see if Ted is available for cuddling.” 

Alexis lets out an “ _Ew_ , David!” from the other side of the room, and David can hear Patrick’s responding laughter down the line. He smiles. 

“So you’re doing dinner with your parents and cousins?” 

“Yeah,” Patrick says. “And then my cousins will probably drag me out to a bar or two.” 

“You don’t sound that excited about it.” 

He sighs. “I think they feel cheated we didn’t do bachelor parties? But honestly, I’m so tired I just want to go home and sleep. Plus, there’s no motivation to drink since I won’t get to come home handsy to anyone.” 

David _loves_ drunk Patrick, who is even more unguarded with his words and touches than normal. “You’re ridiculous,” he says instead of what he’s thinking, because Patrick is that too. 

“You love it,” he says confidently. “But don’t worry, I promise not to get too drunk and ruin the wedding pictures.” 

A thrill runs through him at the way Patrick can almost read his mind, sometimes. At how well they know each other. “I’m going to hold you to that.” He knows the conversation is winding down, Patrick’s probably has to get ready still and coordinate with his family. “I love you,” he says, words coming easier every time he says them, even though he still doesn’t say it half as much as Patrick does. “Text me when you get home tonight.” 

“You’ll be asleep,” Patrick says, heartfelt. 

“Mm. Text me anyway,” David replies, insistent. “Text me to say goodnight.” 

There’s a beat before Patrick says, “Okay, David.” It had taken way longer than it should have for David to figure out that when Patrick said _okay_ in that particular tone, he was really saying I love you.

They exchange goodnights and hang up. David feels a sweet anticipation in him, and maybe not spending the night together was kind of a good idea. The next time he sees Patrick, it’ll be to get _married_. He tries to shake the thought out of his head. If he thinks about it too much, it’ll feel too real. 

He gets up out of bed. “Alexis, where are your Peter Thomas Roth eye patches?”

She rushes to get up, and his parents and Stevie come out through the adjoining door simultaneously, as if they were all listening and waiting for him to finish his phone call. Which is pretty damn horrifying, and reminds him why moving in with Patrick was such a good decision. He stills. 

“David,” his mother trills. “We recently discovered that your future in-laws bestowed you and Patrick with a token of good fortune, as is traditional for nuptials.”

“...Yes?” he says cautiously, because Alexis is looking smug and his dad is looking proud and Stevie is hiding something behind her back. He’s having flashbacks to the four month cookie, and he does not need this stress tonight. He’s going to have to use some of Alexis’ La Mer face masks too, at this rate. 

“Well, we are not to be outshone!” his mother crescendos, and just like that, Stevie pulls a gift bag from behind her back with a flourish, even as her face remains stoic. 

Alexis is bouncing up and down and David takes it gingerly by the handles. He warily parts the tissue paper, slow, and Stevie groans, “Oh my _god_ , it’s not a bomb, just open it.” 

He pulls out what looks like a package of Rose Apothecary cologne. “Are you… are you giving me a gift from my own store?” he asks, pulling out the bottle and squinting at the label. 

“No, David!” Alexis squeals. “Remember, you pinned that article about scent and memory on your wedding board?” She looks like she can barely contain herself. 

“I didn’t think you actually looked at my wedding board,” he says, kind of softly. 

His dad is still beaming, despite David’s thorough confusion. “Well David, Alexis showed us the article about the importance of wedding fragrance and we all pitched in to help the um, the woman who stocks colognes at your store—”

“Tara.” 

“Yes, Tara! Anyway, she and Stevie worked together to create a custom scent for you to wear on your wedding.” His eyebrows go up on _custom scent_ and David smiles, and it’s like a little bit of their old life winking at him. Stevie looks embarrassed to have her contribution mentioned so directly, shrugging defensively when David glances her way.

He’s kind of speechless. Alexis must have stolen a few labels from the store, because it’s the same one, but instead of her usual old-fashioned type, Tara has handwritten in the name of the scent. It’s tomorrow’s date, the date of their wedding. He pulls a little slip out of the bag, which is a note of congratulations from Tara and then: “Notes: top — bitter orange, basil, black pepper; middle — lavender, geranium, rosemary; base — tonka bean, leather, moss, white musk.” 

“I told her I wanted it to smell fresh and clean but also spicy,” Stevie explains a little bit anxiously as he sniffs the bottle, and when he looks back up at all of them, they seem to be awaiting his reaction. 

“It’s the something new,” Alexis says gleefully, with an excited little hand gesture. 

“Never anything as neoteric and titillating as something bespoke, dear,” his mother says, winking at him, but David still can’t speak. 

Instead he folds his lips into a smile and levels a look at them that at least stops Stevie from fiddling for a minute. “Thank you,” he finally manages. He knows Tara’s rates, especially for custom scents, and he knows this was not a small thing. Not to mention all the collaboration and brainstorming that apparently went into it. “I love it.” 

His dad and Alexis have to hug him, of course. His mom stands slightly behind them and claps her hands proudly as Stevie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. 

“I still need to steal your eye patches. And maybe some face mask,” he says to Alexis as they all pull away, who groans with frustration but stomps into the bathroom to retrieve them anyway. 

 

//

 

The scent is grounding as he paces in the back room of the town hall the next morning. He can’t help but be impressed at how right they got it; it’s exactly the kind of thing he likes. He’s going to have to do something really nice for Stevie. And Alexis, if he must. 

“Hey,” Stevie says, popping her head in. He startles a little. “You doing okay?”

“Mhm,” he says, too quickly and too emphatically. “Yep. Yep yep yep, totally fine.” 

Stevie grins, eyes lit up with joy at this turn of events. “Nervous?”

“Mmmmm, nope!” he replies, his voice going high as much as he tries to keep it from doing so. 

Stevie laughs softly at him. She looks really gorgeous in her bridesmaids dress, her hair all twisted up behind her head and threaded with baby’s breath, her makeup a delicate pink. Alexis really did a good job, fuck, she’s never going to stop bragging about how they all look in the pictures. 

“God, you both deserve each other.” 

He furrows his brow at her. “What?”

She rolls her eyes. “There’s someone who wants to see you.” 

And then he hears Patrick’s footsteps, and he’s standing in the doorway, and Stevie is gone, and David can’t breathe. 

“Oh my god, David,” he says, and he looks so—gorgeous, that’s the only word for it. So put together and handsome in his suit, and David is reaching for him before he even realizes that’s what his hands are doing. 

“Fuck, hi,” he says on an exhale, words coming out ardent and overcome against Patrick’s lips. Patrick kisses him back, and David’s fingers are trembling in his hair, and he’s still finding it kind of hard to breathe when they pull away. 

“Hey,” Patrick says back, voice caught somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, and David exhales, resting his forehead on Patrick’s shoulder. He just needs a minute. Patrick noses into the short hairs behind his ear. “God, you smell good. You smell so good, what is that?”

“It’s from my family,” he says, purposefully including Stevie in that without thinking too much about it. He hopes she hears him around the corner. God, he’s felt too much in his heart the past 24 hours, it’s going to explode if he has to take much more. “It’s the something new.” He’s still a little shaky still as he pulls away to stand up straight, but he manages it. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Patrick says with assurance. “I just thought—I thought you probably wouldn’t want to see each other for the first time at the altar,” and David _melts_. He couldn’t even put his finger on what was making him anxious, but it was that. The thought of everyone looking at him when he looks at Patrick and not being able to handle it. His lips curl into a smile. 

“Oh!” Patrick says suddenly, face going mischievous as he steps back a little. “And I wanted to show you this.” He tugs up on his pant legs, revealing light blue dress socks. 

“Oh my god,” David says, voice colored with faint surprise. 

“Are they correct?” Patrick asks, purposefully annoying and teasing. David can’t even find it in himself to be anything but absolutely thrilled. He leans back in and kisses Patrick, quick and familiar. 

“For the purposes of today and tradition, they can be correct,” he allows, grinning as Patrick laughs at his conditional statement. “I should have known you would have taken care of the something blue. Three out of four isn’t too bad.” 

“Oh no,” Patrick says, with that irresistible confidence he’d had when he’d told David _oh, I’m gonna get the money_. The first time David looked at him and allowed himself to want. “We have all four.” 

David’s jaw drops a little before he schools his face back. Of course Patrick has something up his sleeve, he should have known. “Okay then, where’s my something borrowed, Mr. Brewer?” he says, folding his arms over his chest. 

Patrick grabs David’s elbow, leaning in to kiss him with a silly, excited look. “You’ll get it at the reception,” he says as he pulls away. 

“Doesn’t that defeat the point?” David calls after him as he moves back toward the door. Patrick just shakes his head. 

“Get a move on, David. Let’s get married.” 

The word sends a shiver through him, but he nods, shooting Patrick a tentative smile as he watches him go.

 

//

 

Patrick makes good on his promise at the reception. David feels wrung out like a sponge from the emotional rollercoaster of the ceremony and smiling so hard his face hurts through the whole reception so far. And god, he’s wiped. He didn’t know that getting married would mean he wouldn’t get to sit down, or that you barely got to eat any of the food at your own goddamn party. He’d made Patrick promise not to smash cake in his face (not that he thought Patrick had any intention of _keeping_ that promise, really), but now he’d happily take it just for some food. 

Everyone wants to talk to them, but then all of a sudden Patrick’s not next to him and he can’t figure out where he went, but then a voice comes on the microphone, and David feels his heart jump into his throat. 

“Hi, everyone,” Patrick says, standing on the stage where the band is. His guitar is slung over his shoulders, his jacket is off, and he’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows in a way that makes David’s mouth go dry. David feels frozen, even as Alexis pokes at his shoulder, squealing. People cheer, like they all know exactly what’s coming. 

Patrick laughs, slightly embarrassed. “Thanks, um. Sorry to interrupt, it’s just, I kind of promised David something… and I know he likes a classic, so. Uh. I borrowed this song.” An _awww_ rolls through the room as Patrick gives an excited, sure grin as he starts to play.

David twists his mouth to the side. He’d forgotten what this felt like at the Open Mic night, the way everyone’s eyes were on him but he could only look at Patrick. The feeling of the crowd melting away as a sparkling, bright affection rushed through him. 

Patrick ducks his head, concentrating on his fingers on the strings, and it’s a melody that feels familiar and new at the same time, though he can’t put a name to it yet. It’s a soft, slow cover of something he should know. 

Then he looks up, straight at David, leans in, and starts to sing. 

“I may not always love you, but as long as there are stars above you…” 

Stevie lets out something like an overcome whimper, and David feels tears start to sting his eyes as he realizes what the song is. It’s so, so perfect and he can’t believe Patrick is standing there, singing this to him. In front of a whole room full of people, singing about how important David is in his life, how much David’s changed him. David’s crying now, marvelling at how much he feels the same, pressing a hand over his lips and as he smiles too hard to contain, cheeks flushing. Patrick’s looking at him, so steady, and David feels himself crying now, silent and happy and so, so done for.

“God only knows what I’d be without you…” 

The final chord echoes out and people _lose their minds_ , screaming and clapping and stomping their feet and Patrick blushes, steps back and laughs, the same way he had done at Rose Apothecary way back when. David lets out a quivery breath and claps too, hurriedly wiping the tears off his face. 

Alexis pushes at his shoulder, shouting “Go, go!” and then Stevie’s pushing him too as Patrick puts the guitar down, and then he’s on stage and reaching for him, kissing him, and he’s not even embarrassed. He couldn’t think of anywhere else he would rather be, anyone else he would rather be with. 

Patrick leads him off stage as the applause starts to peter out, everyone returning to their happy chatter and booze. The band picks up again and then they’re on the dance floor, swaying slowly. 

“Me too,” David says when he finally regains the ability to speak, the words meaning so much, voice quavering. 

Patrick smiles, pressing in and dropping a quick kiss to David’s neck, and David thinks, _This feels like one of those perfect moments that you dream about._

He doesn’t want it to ever end.

He knows it will. He knows that later, he’s going to pull Patrick into the bathroom and lock the door, kissing him until he’s all wrinkled and his hair is no longer perfect. He knows he’ll dance with his mom, who will make observant but not entirely unkind comments about everyone’s formalwear, and then Alexis will cut in, teasing him about all the pictures she has of him crying and how puffy his face looks. He knows his dad will give a toast so earnest he’ll have to hide his face, that Mrs. Brewer will give him a hug that makes him cry, that Stevie will punch him in the arm and tell him to stop smiling so much because it’s freaking her out, even if she says it through tears herself. They will fall into bed tonight, exhausted, but David will reach out and kiss Patrick with love and gratitude and heat, and Patrick will fuck him until they’re both shaking and crying and overcome.

The next morning, they’ll pile into Patrick’s car and drive to the room at a little bed and breakfast they booked a couple hours away. They will spend the next few days in spa treatments, wine tastings, and on a little private carriage ride Patrick booked as a surprise. They’ll also spend a lot of it in bed, where Patrick whisper in his ear that in a couple of years, when the store has a few more staff or maybe even an additional location, they’ll be able to take a few weeks and go to Jamaica or Mexico for a real honeymoon. David will smile and inform him they’ll be going to Tahiti, actually, just like the Real Housewives, and Patrick will laugh and pull him in and kiss him quiet. David will whisper into the kiss that actually, this is perfect.

It will all happen, and it will all be messy and too much and the best, every second of it. And the best part is, he’ll get to share it all—all these things he never thought he would get to have, the rest of his life—with Patrick. The love of his life.

 

//

 

_They marry under a beautiful wooden chuppah, covered in local flowers and made for them by one of their vendors. They wear matching buds in their lapels, matching rings on their fingers, and matching grins on their faces._

_“Patrick, you have chosen David to be your partner in life. Will you strive to love and respect him always, be honest and kind, and stand by him, whatever may come?”_

_Patrick squeezes his hand. “I do.”_

_Alexis lets out a little noise of excitement that sends giggles through the crowd. He can hear his dad heaving shaky, gaspy sobs, and his mom hums a sweet, contented sound._

_“And David, you have chosen Patrick to be your partner in life. Will you strive to love and respect him always, be honest and kind, and stand by him, whatever may come?”_

_“I do. Yes.” David repeats, tripping over himself to get it out as fast as possible._

_“And as you, Patrick, and you, David, have pledged your love to each other in front of these witnesses, by the power vested in me, I pronounce you… husbands.”_

_The glass is placed on the floor and everyone counts to three. They stomp on it in unison, and a huge “Mazel tov!” goes up from the crowd._

_David looks up at Patrick, vision blurry with tears, who makes an adorable, over-the-top excited face for a second, and then he’s standing up straighter and pulling David in with a hand on the back of his neck, sure. He kisses David sweet and steady, and David smiles into it, listening to the roar of the crowd all around them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that's commented and kudos'd along the way! I hope you all enjoyed. 
> 
> As always, feel free to yell at me about these two on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wardowedidit). It's a fun time: we can talk wedding details, you can read my whiny writing tweets, and we'll get through the show's hiatus together!


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